I always thought that we learned from our parents in essence how to be different than them. My parents certainly thought that about theirs. I am not so sure now. The older I get the more I see we are all living our parents story out albeit in different ways. Not that it is always negative. There are many positives to seeing how we are all connected through shared blood and history. Why then do we focus on the negatives? Why do so many of us lead lives of reaction against some past hurt imagined or real? Those that raise us shape us so clearly, molding us like artists. They imprint on us their past, their present and future. All their pain and joy, thier hopes and dreams, likes and dislikes. A soul claiming another forever…no escape.
It can be so strange to look in the mirror sometimes and see another face staring back at you. You realize then that we are all the same. Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh.
So what is it in us that makes us believe that we are so unique and special that life will be different for us? That our choices will be better or that we will understand what they didn’t?
The arrogance of youth? The need to believe we are in control?
Love for them binds you to them in a manner created by the Divine. How else could someone exist under your skin, close to your heart forever? No crude words can describe that kinship, that recognition of yourself in them and their recogition of themselves in you.


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