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  • Writer's pictureWellington Lambert

My well-fed fat face

What did everything look like?

What did everything look like?

I am trying to remember what it was like before we cut the trees. I don’t remember them, exactly. Soon I won’t remember this.

I have programed my brain to grab on to specific moments that are encouraged by sight, smell…sound. There isn’t much detail, just a feeling, but, more than a feeling really. It is an imprint of something that happened long ago, then happened again, but different. I can’t remember clearly because it wasn’t this life. It is an overwhelming presence of something that moves deep inside of me. When my brain gets out of the way for a brief second, I am released from my limited material view and a deeper understanding tickles my soul.

I love it.

I see pictures of the life I lived and wonder why, with all the possible outcomes, I have been so lucky. My heart is not bleeding on the floor, my brain is now a good friend, the people around me express their love in a way that makes me whole, and I return the favor. In a trillion other timelines I am living out all my shitty decisions for better and for worse. I like to think I have squeezed an ounce of understanding into this tiny shell.

We are bits and pieces of a fragmented future, collecting experiences that fuel the flame.

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