Our life is composed of the tiny marks we leave upon the surfaces of the Earth. Little indications of colour, of discolouration, where we had been, where we have trod.
‘Let us record the atoms as they fall upon the mind’, Virginia Woolf proclaimed.
Let us record the marks as we make them.
A peach ripens. The past moments are visible. Little fleshy marks, the sugar peeps through. But the action occurs when we are not there. If we sat and watched a peach turn from yellow to darkest burnt red, would we watch the present become past? When does an action become a consequence?
If we return to the same place we walked upon two, three weeks ago, can we feel our ‘Footfalls echo in the memory’, as Thomas Sterns Eliot once said. If we return to the river where we watched a swam sit so many moons ago, can we feel the consequences of that moment, do we think of the feelings that arose after, can we situate ourselves in the past and access when the present became so.
Or are we merely reflecting on what has happened, a reflection in the waters of the memory.
We collect so many memories, so many ideas, so many feelings as we live our lives. We try to keep them afloat, alive, to share them, to preserve them, to inspire with them by placing them in pockets, in notebooks, in pen, on paper, on film, in word.
We dip our feet in the water and feel a sensation. The sun shines on a tree and we watch the dance. We purchase a plant and unexpectedly purple flowers begin to sprout. A field of grass blows in the wind and the leaves interact in a flourish, in a flurry, rippling.
We make a brush stroke. The paint dries.
We ride into the sunset on our bicycle, encircled in gold. But when does the gold become ornamentation in our mind? How long will it last? Must we polish it?
——————————————————————————————————-
These are our marks that we leave on the world. Tread carefully.
‘Let us record the atoms as they fall upon the mind’, Virginia Woolf proclaimed.
Let us record the marks as we make them.
A peach ripens. The past moments are visible. Little fleshy marks, the sugar peeps through. But the action occurs when we are not there. If we sat and watched a peach turn from yellow to darkest burnt red, would we watch the present become past? When does an action become a consequence?
If we return to the same place we walked upon two, three weeks ago, can we feel our ‘Footfalls echo in the memory’, as Thomas Sterns Eliot once said. If we return to the river where we watched a swam sit so many moons ago, can we feel the consequences of that moment, do we think of the feelings that arose after, can we situate ourselves in the past and access when the present became so.
Or are we merely reflecting on what has happened, a reflection in the waters of the memory.
We collect so many memories, so many ideas, so many feelings as we live our lives. We try to keep them afloat, alive, to share them, to preserve them, to inspire with them by placing them in pockets, in notebooks, in pen, on paper, on film, in word.
We dip our feet in the water and feel a sensation. The sun shines on a tree and we watch the dance. We purchase a plant and unexpectedly purple flowers begin to sprout. A field of grass blows in the wind and the leaves interact in a flourish, in a flurry, rippling.
We make a brush stroke. The paint dries.
We ride into the sunset on our bicycle, encircled in gold. But when does the gold become ornamentation in our mind? How long will it last? Must we polish it?
——————————————————————————————————-
These are our marks that we leave on the world. Tread carefully.
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