Posts Tagged ‘memory’

A useless walk at 3:00 a.m.
opens up a place
I had thought closed; and suddenly
shared moments, apparently forgotten,
strain the fabric of calm appearances.

Sometimes, it takes nothing
to trigger
a deluge of feeling,
a flood of tears,
an ocean of desolation.

The past becomes present,
the wound as raw
as when it first gaped open,
like the maw of Hell
inside my heart.

Absence becomes presence,
tearing away
at the flesh of memory,
leaving me exposed
and floundering in grief.


Copyright 2015


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Missing Links

Have you ever felt as though you are missing some vital link to some important piece of the puzzle that is your life’s experience?

I often feel that way. 

I was feeling that way again, today, as we drove home from NYC, along the last eight miles of hilly, winding roads to our house.  I tried to recall the way I felt the first time we made that trip, as we were house hunting all those years ago. 

Nothing.  A big, blank space.

Like the space in my memory (presumably, because I’m not really certain anymore) once occupied by visions of the World Trade Center.

Or the spot, now cold, where most of the joys of my childhood once resided.

Why is it that, when memory DOES serve, it serves up only the sorrows of the past?  Why can I recall so few happy events?  Surely my life was not as unhappy as these few persistent ugly memories suggest?  Why can I not recall them?

In moments like these, when thought makes meaning of memory, I feel again the awful emptiness of the loss of things I will never know if I valued.  Every emotion is heightened, every oversight particularized, every perceived slight sharpened.  The unpredictability of my remembering, and its bleakness when it occurs, makes me wish perversely, that I could live only in the “now”, never in the “then”.

And yet, I know deep down that it is in the “then” that I am made…or unmade. 

I wish that I could know when I should pay attention to my life, when I should commit to memory the things that I will lose because I did not see their value.   Small things, seemingly inconsequential, and yet which possess the power to reduce me to frustrated musing and quiet despair.

I do not know how to maneuver a clear course through these labyrinthine thoughts to the safe place at the end of the maze.  The place where the puzzle that is my life’s experience is already solved.

Do I make sense to anyone but me?

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