I ponder the many changes. I confess like the monkey, with his hand stuck in the jar clinging to the treat, there is the urge to hold on and not release, keeping my hand stuck in the jar. And then the whisper of "beginning again...but all has been."
Is not the sun at noon, unnoticed, perhaps uninteresting, the same sun that rises and sets with such magnificence and grandeur? And yet, it is not. The same for millions of years and in the time the words were typed it has changed. The tides of my emotions, growth, and understanding have all been felt by others since life began. And yet they are uniquely mine.
Perhaps that is the thread and whisper. Like the breath I begin again yet all has been. To greet the familiar of today like an old old friend and leave the door open for the friend yet to meet.