Today I started going through all of my blog posts for the last two and a half years. And I am finding the result to be a bit overwhelming.

You, dear reader, do not actually see the back-story, the sequence of real-life events that are transformed here into words on a page. There are secrets here — necessary secrets. There are real identities, off-stage happenings and behind the scenes action, a host of players you do not know directly, but can only intuit through the prism of these posts.

When I read the sequence of posts myself, through the backward telescope of time, I see these secrets revealed, in all of their blaze and messy magnificence. I see arguments in my life, unavoidable rifts. I see that on this day the bombs fell, on that other day a birthday was mis-remembered.

Each event is grist for the mill, just one thread among many. Perhaps the weave of these threads, all these slivered echoes of reality, form into a single reflecting tapestry, or maybe just a rag and bone shop of the heart.

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