Forgotten

Remembering makes all the difference in being able to make the most of our lives. It takes more work than one might think. Each time I awake from a sleep, it takes a few moments to gather up my memories of my actions from the previous day to restore my conscious recollection of who I am and how I have my world organized. Depending on how well I've done, my brain might want to leave most of it buried in my subconscious. Love is pointless without memory. Love is sustained by memory. This is the difference between thinking we love someone and knowing we do. If I fail to love my life, my actions will not survive in my memory past my next sleep, perhaps right up to that creepy sleep without end; I will shortchange myself. The pains of a physical life can also get the best of us and blind us, in turn, betraying our memories. Even Christ slipped into atheism ever so briefly while enduring the agonies of his crucifixion, crying out to Elijah, who apparently had never left his side, Why have you forsaken me? I must be especially careful, for I am specially gifted. I am an artist. This means I must not only remember others but myself among them, for an artist is love, just like the guy sang at the end of Barbarella: Queen of the Universe. And if I forget myself, I deprive others of love. When Jesus ate his last meal, he instructed his followers how to remember him. Not just with their minds but with their bodies, by consuming bread and wine in the place of his flesh.
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© 2010. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.