Flexing my memories
I think I remember. It’s the basis of everything I know. However, one of those Suzuki documentaries is on the TV, a room away, and it wants me to know that I am fallible. Just like everyone else. What I remember tends to mutate, over time.
Now, part of the reason for blogging is to reinforce my memories. Going back, years after a certain thing taken place; this is my duct tape. I can find the date, and with luck some supplementary facts. Probably not solid evidence in a “court of law”, but it helps me to keep my own personal timeline from crossiing over itself and creating granny knots out of my life. If only I had started earlier!
I do have a decade or so on paper, but trying to transcribe out of handwritten notes, recorded with a level of encryption (possible only with enough cheap beer and poor dietary habits) would be… well, not sane. I don’t need to know which days I used my bicycle, back in the early ‘80s. It doesn’t matter any more.
As for the main facts of my life story, they’re already available, elsewhere. The places I lived, the schools I attended, the people that were part of my social circle; relevant only to me. If you ask me, I can spin a reasonable yarn, and that’s all that society wants. Proof that I passed this way, before. I’m not convinces about the possibility of rebirth, or the effect of karma. I just accept that “I am the result” of whatever I did along the way.
