The views and opinions expressed in this blog are solely mine and not connected in anyway to the United States Peace Corps.

8.19.2010

Memories

Italicthey give us something to focus on through boredom and keep us laughing when we get together with friends from our past lives. Memories link us to the selves we once were and the selves we have become. And yet, there are those memories--the ones we never speak of, even though they are always on our minds--the ones that keep us awake at night and leave us, at our most vulnerable hours, in tears.

Yes, I'm talking about memories of the heart.

The power these memories have over us must come from the raw emotion they contain and also from the walls we carefully build around them. But the very potency of such memories stem from fact that they were once true events we experienced, events that we can not move past--events we cling to because in the deepest recesses of our heart, we wish they were not merely memories, but fact--not merely forgotten truths but present moments, able to be relived not only in the security of our minds but in the reality of our world.
Such memories could be as simple as a night of fun and laughter with friends no longer a part of our lives, or as complicated and heart-wrenching as a love that is no longer a possibility.

And how do we move on?

Well, i guess that's the thing about time. whether we are willing or not, it marches onward--and we? well, by merely checking the clock we are willing participants in its construction and continuation.

After all, they say time heals all wounds.

I suppose all i can say with certainty right now is that memories are a refuge, not for the weak, but for those reluctant to give up hope. But hopefully someday those of us with even the most sentimental of hearts can move beyond the refuges of the past and into the truth of the present--fondly remembering where we are from and acknowledging to our inner most consciousness that there is always more to come, that there are always new memories to be made.



8.04.2010

my grandmother's hands are wrinkled and wise
experience can be traced along every line
and strength can be seen in her hands lying still
now clasped for eternity, warding off further ill

my grandmother's hands so translucent and thin
i gently brush up against her cold skin
trying to grasp and hold on to something akin
to her beautiful presence once held within

my grandmother's hands have held both life and death
and now that she has taken her last breath
i can only imagine the peace she can feel--
her mortal pain has forever been healed.