We are at a disconnect. You go your way, I mine.
Life goes on. Your life has details, a daily dictum of diurnal delectables. So
too for me. The dictionary of life gets heavy; keep it simple.
But we may forget one another. How ‘light’ is
that? How very watered down picayune memory can become; or is that: the memory
of picayune matters? Still, it’s not quite like forgetting Schroedinger, let
alone the name of his cat. Ask Pavlov. Names can no longer ring a bell.
Let me not remain obtuse. Of what significance
is the name of another if not knowing or recalling how it makes richer your
life? Yet place names are often based on people. We do not necessarily know the
origins. And all places have significance to someone. Some are generic: Peter’s
Drive Inn; Andy’s Gonna-Bar; Carol’s Care Centre. To whom might these,
specifically, refer? Yet, how can we possibly stay aware of the myriad
milestones such names have left in people’s hearts? How may they demarcate any
given memory? Places or people, we know so very many in our lives. And each, in
some measure, has an impact. Indeed, others have learned lessons from us (as we
have, from them) in how to be, (let alone how not to be!) We each glean from
life according to our own proclivities. Surely, it’s better to keep as aware as
we can of our impact on this world? A single phrase can be so upsetting. A
small act can appear
so puerile.
Letters to friends reveal much. When we do not
refer to their last intimations it as though they remain unheard. So, in losing
another’s letter, or accidentally misplacing it in the waste, or in inadvertently
deleting it from one’s email account, the details disappear! Memory does not
necessarily serve (me). Especially if not answered almost right away. And if
one has very many friends, the recall of another’s details, especially for me,
can be altogether too fragmenting. I shall surely get things wrong! As for my
own immediate details, reporting them can be like a child’s; they can absorb so
much of the here and now, excited only by the instant: “I wore my new blazer
that I got from Tailor Maids, and my shirt that you saw me in the last time we
met, and we went to the new movie, Momentary Madness; it was brilliant. So, as
I was coming out there was this accident on the corner of Blind Spot and
Intersection, but no one was hurt too badly, thank goodness! Next week we’re
flying off to Tie-land, and I shall celebrate my birthday there. A pity you
can’t come!”
So it goes. Manufactured truths can extend into
reality. (How to be forgiven if, hoping that my recollection is right, I hazard
at calling your brother, “Roy”?) One tends predominantly to be left or right
brained. Left is rational, sequential, concrete. Right is abstract,
metaphorical, random.
Point is, either way, maturational insight takes
time. Compassion take time. Awareness is not always immediate, and like
enlightenment, it is not so much a product as a journey. And so the details
(for a right brainer) evolve predominantly into feelings (“which is all,”
according to the poet, e.e. cummings). Yes, sparse details can devolve into the
smudge of forgetfulness that mangles our clarity with each other. We each have
so very many things, so very many other friends, so very many thoughts. And as
the awkward dictum goes: talking (predominantly) about things is shallow;
talking (predominantly) about people is hollow; and talking (predominantly)
about ideas can be pompous. Best to incorporate a little of each; better to be
comprehensive, inclusive, and integrative. (N’es pas?)
With or without you, life goes on. If you’re
reading this and we have not personally connected over the last long while,
then believe please that should I see you (given that we both may well still be
alive) .... believe that I shall feel warmth and care and interest and
well-wishes for you and yours, for your endeavours, for your proverbial hopes
and dreams. But of details of your past, specifically, or even mayhap the
recall of your very name, I shall perhaps be found remiss, forgetful, and
abstract. With or without you, or me, life goes on. But.... is that enough?
ReplyDeleteGraham Jones
At work today, was called a “Rare left-brained / right-brained renaissance man, not a jack of all trades but a master of many.” What a compliment! And totally sums me up. Richard Michelle-Pentelbury would be proud! I owe much of this to his inspirational 8th grade English class.
Jannelle Snowden and 3 others Like
Richard Michelle-Pentelbury: Ha! Thanks for this, Graham Jones. I recall you and your prodigious and innate gifts very well. Independent of seeing your Fbook approbation, I wrote over the last week and published just this morning the following one-page essay on my Blog
Reply:
Graham Jones: Aw, thanks so much! Even 34 years later, I often tell people about your class... I can't think of another one in all my schooling (including post secondary) that had such an impact on my life. You should be proud!