Monday, May 12, 2008
memory and time
(quest for truth)
Having little experience on the truth of things I make no claim on what is or isn't truth. I have no intention of proclaiming what the truth may or may no be. Being well aware of my limitations affords me no authority to preach much less inform since truly, I have no idea.
So what of my quest?
In truth, the truth I am interested in is not one on the grand scale of things but rather one on the grandeur of self side of things. The truth I am interested in is simply the truth about myself.
To assist me on my quest I need a certain clarity of mind . I need my mind to trace itself back in time and not wander off vacantly as is prone to do at times. For truth about me I need to delve in deep and rummage through the debris of my past. A familiar smell or sound can take all of me; hook, line and sinker into the well of my memory.
As a girl I often spent my day getting on and off double decker buses where I would sit on the top deck racing raindrops down the steamed up window, and although in out of daydreams, I had never been closer to the truth.
The first photograph (top),is a photograph of a photograph taken from a place loaded with memories. Looking at it i am thrown into a somersault of memories that bear no relationship to the photographs origins. This is what has lead me to delve deeper. This is what will assist me in my quest. The act of looking. The act of looking closer and closer still and so on and so forth" />
‘What is time? If no one asks me, I know it. Upon questioning, I cannot explain it.”
Time and memory. Memory without time has no life. It does not exist. And time does not necessarily provide us with memory. Whenever I think about time my memory instantly begins to fragment. Dissolve. Just as rain on glass blurs my vision, my memory fades.
If I stop thinking about time and simply remember there is no time only memory. My memory traces itself. There are a multitude of moments that formulate a memory. Memory is feeling; sight, smell, sound, touch. Memory is not intellectual. It is distant, intangible, blurry, fragile - emotional.
Memory is paradoxically present while time continues to pass me by and contrary to popular belief; time can never be lost because time has never been found because time just is.
“The part of life we really live is small.
For all the rest of existence is not life, but merely time.”