Give a child a box of blocks, and after a short period of examination — looking, touching, tasting — he or she begins to build. As a child, I built houses, castles, fortresses — strongholds to contain and protect life and treasure. I continue to build: an identity, an intellect, a love of life, a life...

In the past, I described my mind as an attic: dusty, cluttered, and vast. I peered into my own eyes in a mirror, and it still looks dark and cold in there. However, it seems the attic is above an elegant, constantly growing manor house, where I have built rooms to house memories of my most precious experiences. Since my transplant, the number of rooms has grown exponentially — as each day becomes a gift and each moment a treasure.

Mick

Mansion

Whenever great music touches my heart;
Whenever great joy urges me to dance;
Whenever great peace sets a day apart;
I add a new room to my living manse.
Its stairways are complex and often move,
Its galleries vaulted, its halls are vast.
Each unique door opens with a mere shove;
Each one a portal to part of my past.
I roam those halls carefully, at great cost
To remember, perfectly, paths I take.
For without due care, I might become lost
In my past, a most serious mistake
For one, whose natural passions are rife,
To build rooms in the mansion of his life.

Mick McKellar
September 2012