A mind can be like a sponge that absorbs knowledge secreted, spilt or shared.
Being present in a moment and accepting one’s feelings are separate from filing data away in a memory bank.
Tastes are relative. Things that float my boat are personal.
But one remembers the merry-go-round. Flashes of colour and texture come in handy at odd times.
Insights of this sort are only accessible with the passing of long stretches of time.
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