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When I forget who I am
The great privilege of memory falling off my shoulders
Like boulders
Down a Colorado mountainside
Into the river of a distant valley
With green backed trout
Pooling the water into mini whirlpools, which keep the
River flowing
Under the deep ice of winter;

When I forget who I am,
When the dense mists of memory
Rise from the valley of the winter river
to an evaporating sun,
All Spring calling forward to Summer,
And all becomes free of self and new;

When I forget who I am,
Like a boulder caught in the downward torrent
Of a mountain waterfall
And thrown by silence
Into the unreleasing abyss below;

All this clear and beautiful world
will be yours, Unencumbered.
Love it, as I might have done,
Had I known, in time,
and not misunderstood
what life is for.