Memory, Fashion Myself
Every act of perception, is to some degree an act of creation, and
every act of memory is to some degree an act of imagination. Oliver Sacks
"Boys, tell you father what you did today," I offered casually over the dinner table, hoping to hear descriptions of nature that resonated with my recollection: sunlight shivering the yellow of the elm and sugar maple, the wind shaking out the leaves to compete with the waterfall's melody. "We climbed a broken wall and jumped over a brick wall that had fallen into the water."
And that is how they will remember today's field trip. What I'll remember though are their expressions, their laughter, the way Ben said, "I love homeschooling. This is so much fun." and Knox, "We've had three side trips and we've barely started the trail. This is great!" I'll remember the picture Ben took (below right) of the trees and his "ladder vine" and how Knox described the trees being "happiest" that are "saturated by the stream." And I'll remember revisiting my childhood with them where Alabama creeks/springs/woods/ponds were explored and adventures enacted.
About a year ago, I read a book The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Tales, a collection of case studies recorded by the famous neurologist, Oliver Sacks, the man responsible for the world knowing about catatonic patients and L-Dopa (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Awakenings). In his account of "The Lost Mariner," the patient's brain was stuck in a single moment of being (an extreme version of Dory from Finding Nemo): "He is a man without a past (or a future) stuck in a constantly changing, meaningless moment."
Memory bestows meaning. Memory makes us who we are. I have been replaying my mind's reel of certain periods in my life lately for various reasons and have been amazed, baffled really, by how many takes my brain can conjure of the same event. A recollection can be tailored to fit my audience, my mood, my self-image (the latter is actually a product of my memory-work). How can one be honest with oneself when that self can be so differently imagined?
Time molds our reminiscence, too. I read an article about an exhibit at MOMA (Museum of Modern Art), The Brown Sisters: Forty Years. A photographer took a picture of the sisters in exactly the same order once a year for forty years. I am fascinated by the collection precisely for the conflicting emotions it arouses; for example, the reviewer describes a viewer's despair over the aging process or resolve from witnessing humanity's ability to endure. Here's a link if you are interested in seeing the photographs: http://nyti.ms/Z0cQ4X As the girls' gazes shift from apparently pure confidence to a daring heavy with experiences, Time assures us he plays sculptor in this construct of memory.
We had a wonderfully uplifting and encouraging time at our revival services this week. Speaking of memory, Dr. Davis' mind is pretty amazing. I took notes so that I could remember the truths he helped us glean from 1 and 2 Samuel. Knox and Ben have retold stories that he shared about his childhood and other memorable historical figures. But mainly I am asking God that John 14:26 might be a reality for me: "But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you."
Instead of rehashing the best and worst of Ginny Sawyer Layton as I have been the past few days, I need to allow God's spirit to bring to mind his Word ("Thy Word have I hid in my heart that I might not sin against You." Psalm 119:11) and my mom's favorite verse ("Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable, think about such things. If anything is excellent, if anything is praiseworthy, think about such things." Philippians 4:8) And from a recent reading, Psalm 62:
I am the man who has seen affliction
under the rod of his wrath;
2 he has driven and brought me
into darkness without any light;
3 surely against me he turns his hand
again and again the whole day long.
But again there is good news. Because God sent his son, Jesus Christ, to die on the cross for my sins, to take the punishment for me, to blot out my transgression, I have eternal hope:
"Boys, tell you father what you did today," I offered casually over the dinner table, hoping to hear descriptions of nature that resonated with my recollection: sunlight shivering the yellow of the elm and sugar maple, the wind shaking out the leaves to compete with the waterfall's melody. "We climbed a broken wall and jumped over a brick wall that had fallen into the water."
And that is how they will remember today's field trip. What I'll remember though are their expressions, their laughter, the way Ben said, "I love homeschooling. This is so much fun." and Knox, "We've had three side trips and we've barely started the trail. This is great!" I'll remember the picture Ben took (below right) of the trees and his "ladder vine" and how Knox described the trees being "happiest" that are "saturated by the stream." And I'll remember revisiting my childhood with them where Alabama creeks/springs/woods/ponds were explored and adventures enacted.
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| One of my favorite shots by Ben |
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| Ben's ladder vine. |
About a year ago, I read a book The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Tales, a collection of case studies recorded by the famous neurologist, Oliver Sacks, the man responsible for the world knowing about catatonic patients and L-Dopa (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Awakenings). In his account of "The Lost Mariner," the patient's brain was stuck in a single moment of being (an extreme version of Dory from Finding Nemo): "He is a man without a past (or a future) stuck in a constantly changing, meaningless moment."
Memory bestows meaning. Memory makes us who we are. I have been replaying my mind's reel of certain periods in my life lately for various reasons and have been amazed, baffled really, by how many takes my brain can conjure of the same event. A recollection can be tailored to fit my audience, my mood, my self-image (the latter is actually a product of my memory-work). How can one be honest with oneself when that self can be so differently imagined?
Time molds our reminiscence, too. I read an article about an exhibit at MOMA (Museum of Modern Art), The Brown Sisters: Forty Years. A photographer took a picture of the sisters in exactly the same order once a year for forty years. I am fascinated by the collection precisely for the conflicting emotions it arouses; for example, the reviewer describes a viewer's despair over the aging process or resolve from witnessing humanity's ability to endure. Here's a link if you are interested in seeing the photographs: http://nyti.ms/Z0cQ4X As the girls' gazes shift from apparently pure confidence to a daring heavy with experiences, Time assures us he plays sculptor in this construct of memory.
We had a wonderfully uplifting and encouraging time at our revival services this week. Speaking of memory, Dr. Davis' mind is pretty amazing. I took notes so that I could remember the truths he helped us glean from 1 and 2 Samuel. Knox and Ben have retold stories that he shared about his childhood and other memorable historical figures. But mainly I am asking God that John 14:26 might be a reality for me: "But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you."
Instead of rehashing the best and worst of Ginny Sawyer Layton as I have been the past few days, I need to allow God's spirit to bring to mind his Word ("Thy Word have I hid in my heart that I might not sin against You." Psalm 119:11) and my mom's favorite verse ("Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable, think about such things. If anything is excellent, if anything is praiseworthy, think about such things." Philippians 4:8) And from a recent reading, Psalm 62:
5 For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence,
for my hope is from him.
6 He only is my rock and my salvation,
my fortress; I shall not be shaken.
7 On God rests my salvation and my glory;
my mighty rock, my refuge is God.
for my hope is from him.
6 He only is my rock and my salvation,
my fortress; I shall not be shaken.
7 On God rests my salvation and my glory;
my mighty rock, my refuge is God.
Some of the best of what God has to say in His word regarding memory comes from Isaiah 43 and Lamentations 3:
Verse 25 of Isaiah 43 “I, I am he who blots out your transgressions for my own sake, and I will not remember your sins."
Chapter 3 of Lamentations begins with a heart-wrenching lament about the difficulties experienced by God's people--the devastating destruction of Jerusalem:
I am the man who has seen affliction
under the rod of his wrath;
2 he has driven and brought me
into darkness without any light;
3 surely against me he turns his hand
again and again the whole day long.
4 He has made my flesh and my skin waste away;
he has broken my bones;
5 he has besieged and enveloped me
with bitterness and tribulation;
6 he has made me dwell in darkness
like the dead of long ago.
he has broken my bones;
5 he has besieged and enveloped me
with bitterness and tribulation;
6 he has made me dwell in darkness
like the dead of long ago.
7 He has walled me about so that I cannot escape;
he has made my chains heavy;
8 though I call and cry for help,
he shuts out my prayer;
9 he has blocked my ways with blocks of stones;
he has made my paths crooked.
he has made my chains heavy;
8 though I call and cry for help,
he shuts out my prayer;
9 he has blocked my ways with blocks of stones;
he has made my paths crooked.
But again there is good news. Because God sent his son, Jesus Christ, to die on the cross for my sins, to take the punishment for me, to blot out my transgression, I have eternal hope:
21 But this I call to mind,
and therefore I have hope:
and therefore I have hope:
22 The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
23 they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
his mercies never come to an end;
23 they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
I'll close with a beautiful version of one of my favorite hymns: Great Is Thy Faithfulness
You are an incredible writer, Ginny. It's a travesty that you don't/can't do it more. Every word was gripping and made my heart leap with giddiness over reading an essay of such skill and accurate conveyance.
ReplyDeleteI will return to this piece to consume it in sections. It is too meaty to savour in one meal. I have read it all but have not tasted each word with the tongues of my time.
For the first installment of my comments, I will salivate over the title, which I perceive as "Memory-Fashion Myself." I agree with you about perception and multiple "misrememberings" of the same event or time period. But if we do this, only focus on our past selves, real or imagined, we miss out on the reality and potentiality of our present state, including all the beauty and worth we now possess. That being said, I am consumed by the same thing, primarily when it comes to appearance.
So glad you visited; great to see you! Yes about the focus. I had been missing out on being fully present as I was slowly being consumed by the reconstructionism of the past.
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