Closets of the Mind.

I truly believe the mind works much like a closet.  
We travel in jagged little lines across this common 
plane of human existence...and gather little bits 
and pieces as we go.  Some are souvenirs of long lazy 
days in the sunshine.  Others may be in the back 
corners...in unmarked boxes.  I think I began to keep 
little snapshots of reality in this "closet," at the 
age of 5.  My first memory box is a hot summer day at 
Sea World with my mother and a big Shamu, that looked 
oddly like a human in a suit.  I am sure my father took 
the picture, I just remember crying for no reason...

I guess you could say my closet is in a kind of Organized 
Chaos.  My shelves are prettied with pictures of friends 
and relatives...and perhaps a few of the things I learned 
in secondary school...about people that is.  The words of 
great writers and poets are engraved on the walls, like a 
dirty little bathroom secret...somehow illuminating the room 
with a sense of solitude.  The piles on the floor:  stuff.  
Stuff I will one day sort through, when time has sorted 
through every box.  The remarkable component to this great 
closet, is the ability to pull the smallest remembrance out 
of boxes.  I find it amazing that I can still remember my 
name, let along the history of the United States...or at least 
the pieces they taught in elementary school.  I definitely 
choose what to keep and what to trash, within seconds of 
perception.  (Clutter in the mind is much like clutter in 
the computer...cause of many crashes and slow-time.)

In case you are wondering who's mind you are peeking 
into...welcome to the hallways of Denise's life.  I am an 
undergraduate University student...with few goals, aside from 
to live...and maintain a truth behind my smile.  I am a 
published "poet and writer," growing out of the silence of 
yesteryears.  I hesitate to place myself under the assumptions 
of poet and writer...only because I am not done with my studies, 
and I am quite naive to a lot of the elements that build a writer.  
What I do write is because I feel the need to (in avoidance of 
insanity)...or more selfishly, I gain pleasure from writing 
down my every thought.

Recently, during the summer of 1996, I lost a close friend 
to the AIDS virus.  Jeremiah was someone I've known most 
of my life...there are no words in our language to properly 
describe what a beautiful spirit he was.  One thing Jeremiah 
taught me, that I will never forget...are his "lessons in 
laughing."  There are days when it is hard to find a smile 
in my pocket...much less on my face.  Jeremiah is the one 
to hold a weeping soul in his long beautiful arms...offering 
comfort and solace...and know the perfect time to 'turn 
that frown upside down.'  In travels through time, there 
are few paths that cross...and linger for an eternity.  
I feel my sweet friend, and angel's fingers gently holding 
up the creases on every smile I hold.  

To this wandering soul...That is life, lived best.