Memories

I have been taking a lot of time reflecting on my entire life, from my earliest memories upward. To reconnect with myself, to appreciate the longevity of my life so far, to appreciate all of the things I have experienced. It is a daunting and even time consuming task to remember, and I have been thinking about logging my memories in a chronological order, adding photos and notes, just for myself, to see if I can gain a new perspective, new insight on who I am. The task is going into the mundane, not the most important times or the most memorable things, the hard to reach memories.

Some of my most precious and some of the most uncomfortable memories are the ones in which you actually remember the way you felt at the time, the smells of your memory, the way you thought even, in turn, forgetting all the experiences after that point in time in order to go back to the frame of mind one had then.

It seems like a magical experience to bring to mind the frame of reference of those memories. Often we can remember something fairly easy, but taking the time to really analyze the memory, to remember deeper, to become immersed in the memory.

I recently remembered something I may rarely have previously ever remembered. Understanding memories may become memories of memories, I’m not quite sure if I remembered it before. But nonetheless the feeling of security, that all was right, at an age of 2 or 3, while my mother held me in her arms as I sat on her lap. Do you remember what it was like to be that age? To remember how you felt and thought, to immerse yourself in that feeling. The feeling of that moment, sitting there being held, is somewhat corrupted by what I know now. That being, hindsight is 20/20 so to speak, in that while I didn’t know what being “safe” or “secure” was at the time, but I do now, and that was certainly the epitome of feeling as safe as I may ever have. To not have the concerns of the responsibilities now, to not have the knowledge I have now, to not be concerned with the future, to not remember the past previously, to be immersed in the moment sitting with my mother at a very young age while she read a book. To not have any feeling of anxiety or concern, to feel that end of day sense of being tired. To smell my mother again, to feel the clothes and her body warmth, her breathe from her nose coming down upon me at times. To not know what happened previously or what will happen next and not even think about it. What’s certain is the sense of myself as well in the memory, yet so different as well. I know myself in my memory just as I know myself now. It seems we think similarly throughout the length of our existence on things but in turn also experience things differently now than we would have then.

Can this memory be true as I described? Or is it only true as I look at it from my perspective now? Was it what I remember or was it what I described yet didn’t know enough to describe it as I did until now? How do we know, how do I know?

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