At first gulp, the word, “lost,” conjures up images of dandelion seeds taking flight in rowdy wallows of authoritative wind, lost, fallen astray, misplaced with inevitable wayward gusts. Dust. Empty and vacant.
Then, in consequent digestion of the concept, I realize they’re not. Nothing is lost. Can anything really be? Everything adrift and absent from our lives takes root elsewhere. The reciprocal transfer of energy and cyclical nature of life. The glorious nature of the build coupled with the unescapable beauty of the breakdown. Isn’t it more accurate to state that all lost, whether it is time, moments, a person, a relationship, a beloved object or place are really just out of our own sight? Transplanted. Out of sight, but adrift, somewhere, anchoring roots elsewhere. Whether in our minds alive through influence and impact or alive in an alternate setting in time, space, or place.
And isn’t that ok?
Memories linger and continue to be attained in every living present moment. Always at home in a space nestled safe in those moments we choose to allow loiter our waking and sleeping consciousness. We don’t own time, possess people or objects. We experience them with no binding contract of custody. It’s fluid, not concrete.They are to be savored or dismissed, appreciated or squandered. What is lost? Everything is just in constant motion. Out of our sight maybe, but simply passing.
In whichever context we prefer, lost in a dream, lost and in love, lost and alone. To me, the term is more synonymous to wandering, away but adrift…rootless, ready, and waiting.
All is not lost
All is reborn.