I reminded myself a number of years ago to always pay attention to the essence of the day; as much as the blinders of our routine can make the sequence seem uniform, it is an illusion... What we experience is neither a repetition nor rewindable. It is hard when we move quickly through life, and the days seem to lose sequence altogether; easier when we retain enough touchstones that we can see our relationships to all things twist and reshape. Home, I feel now, is all the places where the twisting has changed us. Natural, maybe, that so much of it will happen in a house; in houses; aging is an anesthesia but it is also the slowest, most inevitably certain agent of change. Sit in an empty room, and you will not remain the same; every day for a hundred years you will change - expand or contract, opening yourself to the inexorable peace of universal wisdom. At the end (the end of wisdom, not existence...), having a 'personality' is merely the story of how you attained such wisdom and when...
In perception, the trust in the constancy of memory is much like the trust in the constancy of time before Einstein's General Theory of Relativity proved light to be the universe's true constant; and memory's true constant, ironically enough, is time... While we believe that any moment, person, or idea can remain in us any length of time unchanged, all we can truly rely on is that they cannot; or rather, that the entropy of all things in time will make this impossible.
No comments:
Post a Comment