Posted in Being human

The other kind of memory.

A mishmash of tree branches, roots, and forest floor, with a very fuzzy image of a child in the background.
A mishmash of tree branches, roots, and forest floor, with a very fuzzy image of a child in the background.

Memory is important.

But your own personal memory is not necessary.

The best of human memory is fallible, changing, and fickle.  And memory can fail.  In so many ways they can’t be counted.

It can be frightening when memory disappears.  In all the ways it can disappear.  Temporarily.  Permanently.

Memory is not what defines us.

We are still here even when we can’t remember.

And the world remembers for us.

Everything we are, everything we have done, everything we have been part of, everything we have affected.  Those things are still there in the world.

Our mind may fade or distort or completely eliminate the events but the events, and we in them, are still there, embedded in the world.

Memory is useful, important, valuable.  But our memory is not the only memory.  There’s a deeper memory, a longer memory, a memory that doesn’t require anything of us.

And in that memory, nothing is forgotten, and nothing and nobody is invisible.

Author:

Hufflepuff. Came from the redwoods, which tell me who I am and where I belong in the world. I relate to objects as if they are alive, but as things with identities and properties all of their own, not as something human-like. Culturally I'm from a California Okie background. Crochet or otherwise create constantly, write poetry and paint when I can. Proud member of the developmental disability self-advocacy movement. I care a lot more about being a human being than I care about what categories I fit into.

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