not a pretty picture. not a good. not a bad. picture. but an argument.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

anamnesis


4 comments:

  1. Ohhhh! A journey toward safety? Or? This much whiteness scares me so. I can't fathom living here, and yet...

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    1. and i can't help but raise my face to the whiteness, the lightness. but your and yet suggests you can not help yourself. this kind of erasure is soothing. my god, it's peaceful. somehow it tells us, it's ok, you're ok, all the while our feet are disappearing.

      (rosaria, i hold your hand softly. do you know how often you refer to safety? what do you think you mean in doing this? what do you think this is telling us? my dear friend, there is no such thing but unbuttoning the blouse to love and this moment.)

      xo
      erin

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  2. memory lives inside us, but its sister is forgetting ... i lay this photograph on my tongue like a holy wafer and the world returns ...

    .

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    1. james, i almost can not hold my thoughts to respond. they float upwards, move of their own accord beyond my hold, and close closet doors to lie in wait to reappear when they choose to. i have so very little ability to remember in a succinct or linear fashion and isn't memory an intrinsic part of thinking?

      anamesis is such an interesting word. i only begin to understand it. it might suggest a set of detailed recollections, a history of reincarnation according to Plato, a liturgy in the Christian church culminating in: do this in remembrance of me", or the complete history (of the body) as recalled and recounted by a patient. i look over the edge of this one word (such power in language, as though it holds the key) to see just what history might be and in knowing history perhaps discover identity and in discovering identity then perhaps understand existence and my/our place inside it. (heh)

      but but but - looking over the precipice of even this one word, there is such a chasm that one might never recover from this first glimpse toward meaning.

      and so instead - i should rather walk down the road slowly.

      xo
      erin

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"Words at the limit of hearing, attributable to no one, received in the conch of the ear like dew by a leaf." (philippe jaccottet) or even a quiet presence is appreciated))