Reading a book about another person’s memories
My own memories cross my mind as I read.
My thoughts wander off from the page
Until I come back and find my place to continue
Until the next page where the next memory surfaces.
The author is discussing how memory works
Using his own memories as his case in point.
The memories that occur to me as I read about his
Come forward again from a forgotten place
Into the present mingling my remembrance with his.
He talks about how we construct memory anew
Each time we recall the separate stored elements
From the different regions of the brain where bits and
pieces
Sensations and emotions and meaning get placed
Re-assembled together somewhat the same.
These memories of mine are fragments of stories
Changed over time, changing subtly
Each time they are remembered, morphing
Like a myth told again and again. No matter.
I enjoy my memories.
And I believe them.
When I remember something, I experience it.
It happens to me like a dream happens to me.
It does mean something, though you may ignore it.
We do have our history, it does influence us.
But our memories manifest who we are now.
It is possible to alter memory intentionally
Telling a story, showing images or multi media.
What we experience afterwards retroactively impacts
What we experienced before, creating a past
Like what I imagine from what my mother told me of her life.
And now there are research reports of epigenetic memory
That children and grandchildren can inherit
Fearfulness about a smell that scared their ancestors
Like there could in fact be a collective memory
Like we could somehow connect with the dead.
Today as I sit here housebound in the December cold
The snow swirls outside and collects hour by hour.
Watching the flakes fall and float, my mind wanders
Seeing the same winter weather happen, hearing the same hush
Feeling a memory from long ago.
