An Itinerant Mind

Memories. Some reflections.

Memory. A stone thrown across the surface of the water, which is time. Skips across, it is an incomplete journey, for me at least, since my memory is not 100%. I remember a series of events, and have forgotten countless moments and details and faces and sounds. The splash of the stone as it skips, the memories I have are imperfect. I may remember the gist, but when pressed, there is detail missing.

For example a conversation. Someone was so angry with me because I was always right. I watched in horror whilst they ranted about this, and did it wrong again. I know who the person is, and where we were. I don't remember what I always got right, or what she was getting wrong. It's frustrating. It might still be in there somewhere. Summoning old memories is an art perhaps. Focus helps. sometimes an instruction to myself to find it and throw it up works, (now think of the implications of that one).

Does it have to be that way? I have read of photographic memory, but I don't experience that - locked in my own mind. Would I want to remember everything? Undoubtedly not. I am thankful that I cannot remember physical pain. Memory is largely word based for me, I remember - then I narrate what I recall, imperfectly. Memory is sequential. I can follow a route in my mind, seeing inwardly the landmarks I used to navigate that route. If I smell something again, I remember it, but I cannot smell violets from memory, without that scent being present to smell in the present.

Sound is a bit easier, I can run through the words of a song (but that's partially narration of course), and hear some of the tune. I can hum or mmm-mmm-mmm the intro to Beethoven's Fifth. I can't do that for Vaughan William's Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis, but when I hear it I know that I have heard it before (and like it immensely). My body remembers such things as how to ride a bicycle, or to drive a car with a gear stick. Wonder why scents are so elusive?

I remember dying - last time. Does that sound strange? Perhaps I am deluding myself, but it does explain some very strange childhood nightmares. If you are interested, I was gassed.

I was reading recently, probably on the BBC news pages, that research has shown how inaccurate our memories are. We edit them, to present ourselves in the best light. I am always a little wary of these pronouncements, though I am sure that we, i do edit to present myself to others and maybe myself in a better light, I wonder if there is a 'range of clarity' - by which I mean do some embroider more than others? Are those who are less bothered about how they are perceived edit their memories less?

Colin Wilson - a British Author who thought and wrote a lot about how humanity 'ticks' wrote something to the effect that we are like gods who constantly forget that we are gods. I have no idea if he was correct, but our ability to retain a thought for any length of time does seem to be eroded by our distraction rich environments. Which is why monks seeking enlightenment are usually depicted cross legged on top of a mountain. Although hopefully not Everest, or they'd never get any peace.

Meh, I'm rambling now. Lost the thread. Skipped to the next bit.

One last thing. I re-read something in my portfolio last week, that I didn't remember writing. I'd stated that I was writing it to be able to enjoy it when i re-read it in the future. Do you know what? I did enjoy it.