One of my yoga teachers asked us what happened to the images our eyes take in - where do they go? How real can what we see be if we can't really say what happens to those images. One of my fellow teacher trainees had his existential crisis right on the spot.
But it is a question I think about, especially when I think about how we hold our past in us. Where exactly is it? And if we can't say where or even what it is, why is it so powerful? What are we holding on to, exactly?
I thought about this when one of my best friends from high school whom I have just recently re-connected with via facebook (see, it does have some redeeming qualities) sent me this photo c. 1986.
So young, so chubby-cheeked! But long gone.