Yesterday I got to singing this line, and I like it. I can’t remember how it goes, but I remember I forgot, or I don’t remember, but I remember I forgot. I think often we don’t even realize we forget most of our thoughts, so I guess sometimes it’s good enough as a starting point, to remember that we forgot.
At least then it’s not so much idle thought, and nowadays I’ve been wondering if doing anything without meaning is any good. I feel more inclined to believe and act on the precept that there is meaning in life and therefore there is meaning behind everything, and so to live half heartedly with mindful consciousness is a bit like being half alive.. and so perhaps I should strive, I tell myself, to be fully alive. Smile of course. I tell myself I should be fully alive and be present, the famous Be Here Now, famous to me anyhow. It’s my three words of change and magic, a beautiful reminder of not so much the past and what I forgot then, but again maybe it is also revealing of that, because everytime I think of Be Here now I am also reminded that I haven’t been here now for the time I forgot about being here now, but there can’t be attachment, that realization does not come with anytime of remorse for the forgetting.
To forget is a beautiful idea in itself. To forget something at the beach or on the tree stump, something prized perhaps or of attachment. To forget the address you were suppose to have memorized, or to forget your way to someone’s house after a long time apart or away. To forget your age, the forgetfulness of the mind without attentiveness. A bit like atrophy, but not as grave. Memory is a muscle, I dare say, one can work on and make stronger. To forget a lover is a feat that I’ve never been able to achieve. I’ve been able to rationalize love and with time and growth have grown out of love, but never forgot. That’s what makes the core of me, some of those relations, no all of them, but not all the core part of the core. But yes, to forget love is grand, and I believe that if the forgetting is unnatural, therefore forced, in anyway, or by matters of circumstance and attention, the forgetting arises from the diverting of the mind towards busy times, and the aversion of the eyes towards the object of forgetting, then the Forgot is still inside, and pangs shoot up from time to time because it’s like pulling out a flower, but not with care. Not with tender hands leaving some of the roots in the soil and so the roots gets thirsty and hungry and when the storm of hurry subsides, and quiet settles in, and a darkling sets on our life, we are more perceptive to sounds, and our senses sensitive feel what for long we have been suppressing or unawares of. Then we do hear the roots cry out for a little water, the roots we thought gone so long ago. Even the soil remembers the roots, and therefore if you yank at the roots and they’re all out, well the soil still writhing with nutrients taken and given forth by that living thing, and so memory is more than remembering. It is very much alive around us and its in some of our blood and our retinas change and we hear different things and the taste of some fruits feels like something we knew before, and its in the way he touches your skin or she, and they remember the skins they felt before, whilst you have in mind body and heart the touch of a past love too tender too sweet too loving too perfect. And so you must forget, because some love can’t be tarnished, sometimes you just love so real and you can’t forget by yanking or burning or burying. You just forget by living a little more, and loving a new different kind of love. The great forgetting.
(mayfly summer 2013)