17 Dec Memories or moments
I without a doubt have a wealth of memories to choose from, 32 years worth in fact. Although a large number of those are heavily dulled through abuse or the tyranny of ages, I still have some solid foundations with which to build my world view and fund the old memory banks, despite their often dilapidated states. The battle I face is finding some sort of equilibrium between the desire to create memories, and the ability to live them.
I have the life and times of the bold and the beautiful, the good and the ugly, the bad and the pointless. My memories cover a spectrum more fuzzy, warm and wide than the ultra violet to the microwave background. I flew and walked to Everest base camp, did yoga with a yogi while staring out at the Ganges in Varanasi, India, walked on the Great Wall of China, messed about on a pyramid in Egypt, stroked an elephant in Thailand and picked my nose in Mexico.
I have a huge badly cataloged library of blurry faced memories with people and places that made me happy or sad. My tongue tingles at the fading remembered tastes which satiated a thirst for culinary experience, and my thinning stomach lining burns from the expunged hideousness of meals less than satisfactorily prepared.
An endless procession of happenings have created a wealth of half forgotten memory gold, the little and the large, the significant insignificant of our lives, the drops that make the ocean.
The climbing of mountains, floats in oceans, seas and rivers.
Hikes in jungles, picnics at lakes, animals in the wild and wild people acting like animals.
Taxis, buses, planes, trains, ferries, tuk tuks, legs and snowboards.
Hair cuts, beards, showers and fingernail clippings.
My teeth have been brushed, my skin burned, my back scratched and my feet itched. Noses picked, muscles pulled, headaches ached, pills popped, coffee drunk and fags smoked, posts written, posts read, photos graphed, backpacks bought and backpacks broken, laughs laughed and tears fallen, drippity drip, drip.
There are a seemingly endless supply of neural pathways which let me know I have lived and loved, billions of synapses fire to confirm I have existed. My skin flakes and my eyes water, my hair falls from my head, but grows from my nose with intensifying vigor, an unstoppable defiance of my desires. A new me is broken and built with every moment, but my conscious which culminates from the hazy jello of thoughts I call I, soldiers on. Creation and destruction.
I have a hard time separating the desire to make memories, with the desire to live them. I have a habit of forming the resulting emotions for an event before and during the event itself. When I imagine myself doing a thing, I imagine myself pleased at having done the thing. The difficulty is preparing oneself, readying for an adventure or event, without dismissing everything that comes before, and enjoying the event without focusing on what comes after. I take a thousand photo’s to record for posterity the memory of, often without fully enjoying the event while it is.
I (and I assume a lot of other people) have a hard time living in the moment, for the moment. Truly appreciating a thing without thinking about what that thing will give me, what memories it will help form, what joy it may bring in hind site, or how it might make a delightful conversation after the fact.
It would be nice to do a thing, without preempting its happening or predicting what might come next. Without imagining it to soon be a memory and nothing more, without questioning the validity of its point or the point of its validity, or how long it might take before being lost to the void, where its only recurrence will be a brief mention in a brief conversation with someone who only briefly pays it mind, and then on into the swirly, hazy maze of my mind for its final whooshing attempt at existence.
In short, I need to try harder, or less, to just be, to have a thought, live a thought, and then let it go so as to truly appreciate the next one. I need to be like Buddha, but a more fun version, because sitting under a tree for more than a few minutes does not really appeal.
I am making a bit of headway and heading in the right direction, but it is not easy. The thought of thought dissemination and degradation does not sit well with me, but it is a fact of life, and to fight against something which is, always has been, and for the foreseeable future will be, causes nothing but a frowny face and sagging shoulders, and I already slouch enough without the added weight of the world.
So I shall continue to attempt, and attempt to not attempt at all but just do, I will deny my perpetual propensity for posterity, and purposely primp and preen possible passions for the present,
And if I fall off that possible pony? Well, at least I will have the memories.