Kenny, this post reminds me of a moment when I schlepped all my photo albums and scrapbooks along with a hefty number of wood pallets to one of the fire pits on San Diego's Coronado Island for a Full Moon ceremony / gathering.

(I host monthly Full Moon events to honor an practice my shaman training.)

On this particular evening I invited participants to experience a release and renew ceremony. Bring two non-plastic burnable items.

• One item represents what they seek to release.
• The second item gives testimony to what they seek to renew.

A powerful night had by all.

As the last participant for that night wandered off for a long beach stroll I opened my boxes packed with every photo album I painstakingly crafted along with scrapbooks brimming with tickets (theater, airline, parks, etc.), playbills, n such.

As I readied to mindfully toss each page into the hot, glowing fire pit (the remains of a couple dozen wood pallets my local store was all to happy to trash) I recall an elderly couple passing by. They asked me what all those boxes are.

I told them the boxes contained the memories of a dear soul who died. Time to return their memories to the ethers. The couple smiled and carried on.

For the next couple hours I watched my history blossom into sparks then sparkles as each page light their existence into the dark sky.

Post ceremony I savored a feeling of profound release. Composted memories to fertilize my now.

For me, photographs rarely capture the image my memory stored. Photographs capture the nuts and bolts of the moment. Memories capture the savory soup of time.