Memories. There are good ones and bad ones. Then there are the dangerous ones. The memories that create the rosy past and those that create evil caricatures of other human beings. Wandering in the desert really skews your memory. We long for a past that never was and pin blame for percieved hurts on others and on God.
The Israelites in the desert kept blaming Moses for bringing them into the desert. They continually said that they preferred Egypt. Their memories needed to be jogged. They were slaves. But if we are honest we would prefer structured oppression rather than wild freedom with God. Well I would. God is so wild, so unpredictable. Isn’t the little prison of my depressive state more comfortable, more predictable? So we long for the past. We long for those songs we used to sing and the food we used to eat and shake our heads ruing the present for it’s inability to conjure up our mythical past.
It makes it more complicated that this myth we create is intertwined around our real memories. The friendships, the food and the freedom. Yet the desert is very clear. You have left something behind. When and if you go back it is unlikely that it will be there.