Some moments are like drops of rain that set in motion an avalanche of memories - old dusty impressions that suddenly and unexpectedly crawl out of the mind's attic, take on wispy shapes and start clamouring for attention.
Like certain smells that slyly waft in and out of the mental room, never long enough or strong enough to be recognized, yet so potent that they can trigger vivid images and trains of thought that linger for days. Or a shadow-malaise - not so virulent that it debilitates, yet enough that it never leaves the room. Like an off-kilter buoy drifting along a sea of twilight memories. Memories of out-of-focus times when the mind has been strong but the body hasn't, or the other way around, uneasy times that remind us of our vulnerability and mortality far more than perhaps even more serious trauma or illness.
A handkerchief pilfered from my mother's handbag the last time we were together, still in mine, comes to my rescue when I'm attacked by a particularly vicious coughing bout. Its scent swiftly conjures up the image of her smiling face - a reminder of the many intangible threads with which our lives and minds are perennially tied to this world and everything in it.
The dreams of our past masquerading as the memories of our future - this is what we must transcend. The relentless interdependence of things.
Like certain smells that slyly waft in and out of the mental room, never long enough or strong enough to be recognized, yet so potent that they can trigger vivid images and trains of thought that linger for days. Or a shadow-malaise - not so virulent that it debilitates, yet enough that it never leaves the room. Like an off-kilter buoy drifting along a sea of twilight memories. Memories of out-of-focus times when the mind has been strong but the body hasn't, or the other way around, uneasy times that remind us of our vulnerability and mortality far more than perhaps even more serious trauma or illness.
A handkerchief pilfered from my mother's handbag the last time we were together, still in mine, comes to my rescue when I'm attacked by a particularly vicious coughing bout. Its scent swiftly conjures up the image of her smiling face - a reminder of the many intangible threads with which our lives and minds are perennially tied to this world and everything in it.
The dreams of our past masquerading as the memories of our future - this is what we must transcend. The relentless interdependence of things.
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