Tuesday, July 10, 2018

1. Memory - The Most Sacred Marble

Memories creep in like the cold air that slides over windowsills and drifts under doors. They occupy the mind, till slowly and invisibly it begins to fill. How does sound trap memories? How does a record transport us to a different time, a burning moment?

Where do memories get stored? We all have memory vaults where we place: our cherished, most painful, most joyous, and/or most unbearable experiences. Some of these, open like a twist/off bottle; with a tiny releasssssssse of mist. Others are triple locked with hidden passwords and keys. Others are carefully bolted, screwed and welded shut so that we are made to believe they are gone. Forever.

It is our soul's filing clerk who ultimately makes the decision on where these treasures get stored. Yet one thing is for certain, they are never lost and NEVER gone. Although...

Unless their laughter is heard and unless their flowers are watered from the tears summoned forth by sharing one of them, memories become forgotten. 

The reader is no doubt familiar with the famous quote from Alfred Lord Tennyson (stuffy Old British Name yeah?), "tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” Whether one believes this quote to be true or not ultimately depends on which type of memories dominate one's recollection of such experience. (See Kahneman's work on "Memory").

If one's recollection is dominated by memories filled with joy that heavily outweigh and outnumber the memories filled pain, this quote, "tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” rings true. However, if one is pained by the permanence of what no longer is with a far greater magnitude than the joy which it's experience left behind, one might doubt the validity of such quote. For those who cannot fathom the depth of such pain; I would explain this way:

When "nothing" is there to begin with, 
there is no space of what once was 
(because it has not yet been created). 
There is no lack there-of, no void. 

However, once something exists and its existence grows to encompass space and time AND that space and time grows into experiences; there are seeds planted into hearts. These seeds are what ultimately materialize into: Memories. When that thing that made them is no longer (that love, that relationship, that friendship, that loved one) it's absence, can be worse. It becomes too difficult face the sweet residue of what isn't. For one to face, that other life that once was; to be left to ponder the maddening existence of 

Jawt Khahlee (spelled phonetically in farsi or the Persian Language) is a deeply meaningful phrase we say when we miss someone. But it's literal translation is, "Your space is empty." 

It is this vacant space we fill with memories. If I close my eyes, I can take myself to a memory. Possibly one of the sweetest I own because it gives me hope. Hope that despite the sands of time taking so much of what I love, I am lucid enough to hold on to my greatest treasure: My thoughts. In the treasure chest of my mind, the jewels that shine brightest are utterly devoted and filled with: Memories Of My Father. These are my greatest treasure. Not some long lost love, or an object I cherish; not some grand show on a marvelous stage, where the players were brilliant; nor some fleeting fit of joy roused by yet another adventure; but this singular and concentrated potion, which somehow encapsulates all that I was, am, and yet to be. 

     I wish to howl to the reader, "You are lucky to be gazing your eyes on such treasures!" 

"But I have accepted my disposition as one who helps others read the treasure 
maps written in their souls." 

In order to do so, one must first be willing to accept that there is indeed treasure to be found. One cannot hunt for treasure it does not believe exists. And the only way one might believe that such treasures exists in their own soul is to actually see the treasure in the soul of another.
*Behold, these these gems are priceless artifacts:
His look stays with me, and I only wish his embrace did the same. If you wanted Cliff’s Notes, I would give it to you in those 2 attributes: 1) His starry/love-filled gaze. 2) The warmth inside his embrace which held no rival. At the time, I jotted down these wrinkled thoughts my main only objective was that my paintbrush was vivid enough to allow me to come back to this page, whenever I needed to and like a drug, or a scent, or a song.... And hope that it arouses my memories.

Excerpt from: Memories Of My Father
If interested in purchase visit. www.PoetAli.com 
In subject line e-mail put: Memories of My Father

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