How can we sift through the garbage that clogs our experience, in particular our relationship to one another? History is what it is. It can no more be changed than the future can be predicted. It informs our present, whether we like it or not. Maybe it is not even possible to "let it go," as we are urged to do. Maybe all we can do is absorb it, allow the ache, allow the residual hurt to pervade us, until the fire of its collision is ignited and we burn. Burn away layer after layer until what remains is all there is or ever was: sisterhood, brotherhood. How regardless of childish inconsistencies I have loved you since before you were born, and how I will go on loving you into the next lifetime and thereafter. That is all. That is all.