Memory
So, I can’t follow my own rules on how I’m approaching this blog. Whatever.
I’ve been thinking about the concept of memory lately. Memory is complex. It’s always changing because we change with time, and when we look back at moments we see them through different lenses. Memory is unkind. It spins falsehoods into truths and truths into falsehoods. It contains only the appearance of truth.
Memory is a sacred act–a ritual to be performed, as in Christ’s words, “Do this in rememberance of me.”
All writing is memory.
Freud writes about the function of memory in our subconscious and connects it to past traumatic acts which surface in all kinds of interesting ways.
Our personhood contains moments of memory held together by a spider’s web.
We often use metaphors to describe our memories. These metaphors try to capture feelings of the memory, the picture that’s either out of focus, blurred, or clear.
A story I’m working on is in essence about memory and how a woman keeps returning to certain moments in her life. The memories are traumatic in the sense that they won’t remain in the past but continue to intersect with her present life. She approaches them even in a ritualistic fashion, almost a religious experience. Part of the problem is she is unable to determine what is truth.
Aiden’s comment of the week:
Aiden - “You know how to be a dancer?”
Mom - “How?”
Aiden - “You have to not listen to the instruments, but you have to listen to the drum that is inside your heart and follow that.”
Here’s some pics…
