Sunday, April 27, 2014

Memory tree

An ancient tree stands in the shining bright of the summer sun.  It has seen many before, and it has no more living roots or leaves to welcome it.  But it remains there.  Reminding us of its life, long after the life has gone.  But I am not a tree.  My living memory is kept inside my mind. 

I am unsure how long I will be around, as I grow tired of offering bits and pieces of my soul and being, only to be crushed from the outside.  No, when I pass I won't be like this tree, others have my words, and experiences with who I am, but I am not going to remain.  There is no sense in that.  So ask my wife or son who I am.  Ask my friends.  If you leave it to my flesh to remember, it will fail, because I'll be gone. 

I don't plan to die, who does?  But I don't intend to be a living monolith. My flesh is not a monument to life, my life is a monument to that


“When you live with another person for 50 years, all of your memories are invested in that person, like a bank account of shared memories. It’s not that you refer to them constantly. In fact, for people who do not live in the past, you almost never say, “Do you remember that night we...?” But you don’t have to. That is the best of all. You know that the other person does remember. Thus, the past is part of the present as long as the other person lives. It is better than any scrapbook, because you are both living scrapbooks.”  

Federico Fellini