I was sitting in my house enjoying a nice breeze when suddenly I realized I forgot to blog yesterday. When this thought successfully burrowed its way into my brain, I rushed over here to write this.
I am of course aware that, despite my slight egomania, you dear readers do not in fact hang on my every word. Probably you did not even notice my absence, unless you per chance happened across something that reminded you of this blog. Even then, it most likely did not cause more than a momentary pause.
So, today I am musing on forgetting. I have more experience with forgetting than most people. I am missing a good portion of my life (about half) to the murky sees of forgetting. Psychologists claim that you actually remember everything. It’s your ability to recall these memories that becomes damaged. I hope to tell this story some day, but not here, not now. Now I want to thank about what happens to one when they lose this ability to recall.
I have heard many times that we are the sum of our experiences. If this is so then what can be said for those who are missing crucial experiences? Does their very absence provide an experience all its own? I think so. Even the memories that are unable to be recalled will work their way into a form of memory. You might feel them physically, or you might for no apparent reason suddenly feel the need to leave a place, or go to a different place.
The mind is an endlessly fascinating creature to me. I once heard that it has more connections in it than stars in the universe. I thought it was a beautiful statement. I since learned that this information is most likely false. I say most likely because all theories that attempt to number the stars are in fact theories. Until we get there, we won’t know for sure how many there are.
I would modify the statement to say that the human brain has more possibility than there are stars in the universe. The stars are (theoretically) finite, the possibilities of the human mind are not. At least, that is what I think. I am sure a legitimate astronomer would be able to clarify my statement with fact, but I don’t believe an astronomer could disprove it entirely.
Speaking of astronomy, a friend and I were recently discussing the fact that we humans are made of stardust. Everything we are is thought to have resided in the heart of a star. This is beautiful and poetic and fascinating all at once. The mad scientist in me wants to examine the stardust, to see what secrets it might hold, even in these forms. The mad artist in me wants to write sonnets immortalizing the beauty of the idea and paint pictures. I think I’ll settle for a cup of coffee now, some sketching today, and some stargazing tonight…unless of course I forget.
Until next time dear readers.