Manifest Destiny
There is a woman who cannot forget. All of the moments of her life are a constant amalgamation playing in her mind, every hour, every minute, and every second of her existence in this physical world. I watched her story a few nights ago, with mouth agape.
How intense would it be to have all of my moments present always? To remember every sunrise, every autumn day, the feeling of cool on my skin, the warmth of sand, my first kiss, my lover’s touch--a heightened form of consciousness perhaps. What I wouldn’t give, I thought, to close the passing of time.
But then, just as she began to explain her gift, darkness came into her face and my fascination ended. Her memories have been to her a haunting.
Because she can never forget, she can never begin anew. Her life is a constant regurgitation. There are no cocoons or metamorphoses. She is as she always was, trapped in the moment before.
Unabated memory has stripped her of the ability to transform. Meaning is only that which you mean it to be; its purest construction turned inside out. I am who I say I am. Through this blog, through the words, I am anything that I fancy to be and you will believe. Much of life is edited—our memories and thoughts. We tell ourselves and others stories, our egos run amok. We fashion our very existence--manifest love, sadness or strife. That things are rigid and static is the ultimate illusion. The present is all we have; create or perish.
So to this, I am glad that unlike this woman, I will forget. I’ve already made a list of things that I will mitigate, edit and comb into my life’s historical context. I will forget the day that my mother died, but through each breath, I will celebrate her life. I will discard the utter frustration of law school, but I will always practice justice. I will trivialize and dismiss assumptions and negative inferences made on the basis of my race, sex and sexuality. But I will hold all the joy that this Blakness, this Womynness, this Queerness can contain. I will distance myself from heartache but I will always bare my heart. I will do this today, and tomorrow I will wake to begin again and again and again…
How intense would it be to have all of my moments present always? To remember every sunrise, every autumn day, the feeling of cool on my skin, the warmth of sand, my first kiss, my lover’s touch--a heightened form of consciousness perhaps. What I wouldn’t give, I thought, to close the passing of time.
But then, just as she began to explain her gift, darkness came into her face and my fascination ended. Her memories have been to her a haunting.
Because she can never forget, she can never begin anew. Her life is a constant regurgitation. There are no cocoons or metamorphoses. She is as she always was, trapped in the moment before.
Unabated memory has stripped her of the ability to transform. Meaning is only that which you mean it to be; its purest construction turned inside out. I am who I say I am. Through this blog, through the words, I am anything that I fancy to be and you will believe. Much of life is edited—our memories and thoughts. We tell ourselves and others stories, our egos run amok. We fashion our very existence--manifest love, sadness or strife. That things are rigid and static is the ultimate illusion. The present is all we have; create or perish.
So to this, I am glad that unlike this woman, I will forget. I’ve already made a list of things that I will mitigate, edit and comb into my life’s historical context. I will forget the day that my mother died, but through each breath, I will celebrate her life. I will discard the utter frustration of law school, but I will always practice justice. I will trivialize and dismiss assumptions and negative inferences made on the basis of my race, sex and sexuality. But I will hold all the joy that this Blakness, this Womynness, this Queerness can contain. I will distance myself from heartache but I will always bare my heart. I will do this today, and tomorrow I will wake to begin again and again and again…
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To not have known...that is the question.
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