Out of the blue, I am on Canal Grande. I am looking down from an ample balcony. All manner of boats are slithering underneath it. And then the bliss evaporates.

Addendum (June 15, 2012)

Another brush with a life long past? Another blush of home, real home, perhaps on leaving it for good? And just as I was wondering about homelessness… But why was the bliss so fleeting? A few seconds at most. Why could I not hold onto it a while longer? And when will I be able to return to it, no matter how fleetingly? Put differently, when will I become able to relish my past lives without let or hindrance? Damned questions galore, but no answers worth considering with any degree of certainty. Guesses, mere guesses for all eternity. Dust and ashes beyond plausible return.