Memory

Yesterday morning in my quiet time reading, I came across this quote in Pema Chodron's book Start Where You Are :

"Every situation is a passing memory."

Early on I intuited this truth, though certainly not due to any spiritual enlightenment. Quite the contrary. Due to a virulent addiction to alcohol and other drugs in my youth, I existed in a vacuum of insecurity and extreme self-consciousness. I was self-tortured by illusions of low self-esteem, convinced that on the "The Great Chain of Being" I was lower than proverbial whale turds. I was so locked-down in a constant state of anxiety and panic that I was generally unable to fully appreciate any situation. Most of my existence I experienced as an ordeal; I used to say that I was very adept at "faking it, making it, getting by." Funny, viewing it objectively, I lived quite a charmed life, one of many adventures, awards, achievements, etc. That was part of the problem; I felt so undeserving of what my life was that I felt extraordinarily guilty of having had life "handed to me on a silver platter." Wierd, the machinations of callow youth, huh?

Somewhere, I got the idea that I could experience life better in memory. I became an expert in waxing and waning nostalgic. I also used to say that I was "a maker of memories." I could hardly wait for an experience to hurry up and get over with, so I could go off and appreciate it by myself, yes -- in memory, usually with the utmost regret that it was gone, kaput, done with in the irretrievable and irrevocable past.

In the mid-summer of 1966, just before I went into the U.S. Army to fulfill my obligation as an ROTC-graduated Officer and Gentleman by act of fucking Congress, I started what has been a life-long endeavor since, writing poetry. Here is my first poem, which explores the theme of memory:

Projected Memory

After all my bows are taken,
when dust clings to the window pane of my soul,
perhaps then Ill think of one rose petal.

Its fragrance will swirl through me,
bringing with it bright memories
of youthful yearnings across the pit of time.

In sweet silence,
probably rocking with eyes closed,
a smile will caress my wrinkled lips.

I shall remember this magical time,
when in shadows laced with moonlight
we slowly kiss.

Summer, 1966
Cincinnati, Ohio

What's that cliché about youth being wasted on the young?

Late last night, I perused the entire fotolog of new cyberfriend, Ronni. The very last entry I read, before collapsing into Titania's web, was this quote from the The Uses of Photography by John Berger:

"What served in the place of
the photograph; before the
camera's invention? The
expected answer is the
engraving, the drawing, the
painting. The more revealing
answer might be: memory."

Comments

[Fran]

Hi Thomas! Wanted to say how much I am enjoying this new blog, with its links and format. Glad to hear you are fine. Spring has arrived in New York, and since I'm at lunch now, I will soon go for a walk to enjoy the sights and sounds you can only find on a New York City street. All the little bistros are bustling with afternoon diners, the aroma of the multitude of cuisines tempt as I walk by. Lovely. Your poem, written as a young man, Thomas, is one of your best in language, image, and is universal in how so many of us envision ourselves (if we are blessed) to sit in a rocker and recall the past - always vivid. Hmmmm . . . just thought for a moment, one does not necessarily have to be old to recall a pleasant moment once shared. Be well my friend, be safe. Until later . . . Always Fran

[Roinni]

The entire fotolog? You must have an iron butt, Thomas. I'm flattered. Memory - how it works, what we remember and don't remember, what triggers memories, etc. etc. ad infinitum is one of my favorite topics. And when I've got more time, I'll dig in further with you if you're interested. I'm in Atlanta on business for a few days, so not as focused as usual.

Again, I'm so flattered at such attention.
Best,
Ronni

[thomas]

Thanks Fran and Ronni . . .

Yes, Fran -- I have lovely memories of us just last year before I came to Sri Lanka, walking along the bustling City streets, sharing a meal in one of the lovely bistros of my favorite hometown.

Of course, Ronni, I look forward to "digging in" further with you about memory, etc. We share mucho generational history that I anticipate, with relish, sharing more and more about with each other.