When you’re told as a child not to piss around with fire, as a general rule of thumb you do it anyway.
Much like when somebody tells you to let the past be the past, you’ll undoubtedly head back there from time to time.
Like Simba disobeying and heading to that elephant graveyard. (Every twenty something requires a Disney metaphor for clarity)
It’s probably the most common soundbite of advice that’s passed from peer-to-peer. It’s an instinctive response offered in a number of difficult situations.
“Mate, it’s in the past, don’t worry about it”
Thanks mate, for highlighting something that I’m already well aware of.
The intriguing thing is that the ghosts of the past still reside within my sub conscious. Sleep is when they seem to convene, with the single intent to prompt a reminder of their existence.
You can be just about to nod off to a delusion which involves Katy Perry and bondage, and some indiscretion from your youth will burst the bubble, still keen to make itself known.
At times you can’t escape being a prisoner of its sadistic psychological game.
The truth is, I think the past never truly leaves us. It’s sad to think. We all have our own coping mechanism. Some of us repress it with ease. Lock it in a hidden vault along with mental naked snapshots of ex partners and the portrait of Dorian Grey. We can all draw conceptual lines in the sand to help us separate ourselves from it. But it’s still there.
Some of us are lucky, and are cold hearted enough to detatch ourselves from such psychological barriers. But those people tend to lack any form of substance, and immerse themselves in a world built entirely of monetary gain and attatchment to possessions. So in a strange, contradictory way, I suppose I’m grateful to be troubled.
Does the past hurt? Sometimes yeah. But we can either run from it, or try learn from it. It’s not going away. (Lion King reference two: check)
It’s hard though. Not to allow the errors of a past life to corrupt your future.
Sometimes we just need a little bit of guidance, and in such instances, just remember that Rafiki know de way.
(Three strikes, and I’m out)