on the borders of sleep, between what is and what will never be, or maybe, between what was and what only seemed, she steps in.
grey, and a little bent over her walking stick, she hovers at the margins of perception, and i know her, always have known. she is my mother.
or what i remember of her.
i have lost most memories of childhood, and my school years, and the names of most teachers (and all the classmates, in all the classes i have been, including the university, unless we became fast friends – and those are memorably few). i have lost the memories of the actual events, preserving their structures and lessons in some abstract storable form. i have lost memories – some deliberately, some through the grace of god, some via accidents – to replace them with rational (or irrational, as the case might be) constructions of knowledge and results of analyses.
in part this has been because there has been much to forgive and forget (as they say), in part because the structures and results take up less storage and are easier to index. so, i have exchanged memories for knowledge.
but what if this exchange goes further than what i want it to be? what if the replacement of memories with knowledge gets out of hand, and suddenly i am not who i love, but only what i know?
what i know allows for distancing, and rationality and analysis, and reason.
who i love…is an anchor for the stream of emotions and feelings, and memories of emotions and feelings. without such reference, the feelings and emotions enter a Brownian movement resulting in much pain and instability. who i love links the knowledge and the feeling, and makes this link understandable.
human life is an irreversible progression (or maybe regress) from birth onto the transition point into something else. different entities progress at different speeds and durations. some paths are parallel for a set amount of time. it is only in memories that we can access the terminated paths parallel to our own, it is only through love that our paths connect at all.
they say that one has to ‘let go’ of those that have transited into the next world. and then, there is much silence about what (communication) protocols are involved in the ‘letting go’. and there is a lot of uncertainty about the border between ‘letting go’ and ‘forgetting’, as the two are easily confused.
is her presence in my dream-world an indication of my not letting go? i doubt it. there is no reason, neither rational nor irrational for me to think that. then maybe her figure between the layers of my sanity is symbolic of that fear of forgetting who i love – and thus, what i am?
only the sound of steps punctuated by the walking stick, no words, no wisdom. a figure so familiar, yet faceless – yes, i have forgotten her face, as i have forgotten the faces of all those forðferende. she stands right outside my reach, right within the dreamscape. and i have no namings of memory.