Memory is a weird thing.
Sometimes I get pops and jumps of memory, that just get triggered by stuff. Sometimes memory comes to me in a nice, clean narrative. Sometimes (often with that second kind) I find out later that the memories are just… wrong. Things didn’t happen like that. It’s like my brain’s filled in the gaps by guessing at what probably happened.
It’s very difficult to make myself memorise things on cue. That feels like the same kind of frustration that I get when I try to make myself fall asleep.
The thing I find most difficult to accept about meditation is the idea that only the now is worth any attention. I really believe that what I do, what I have done and will do, is what makes me up. I don’t believe that I have a “core” of me-ness, not really. The idea of putting aside all of that and boiling down to the “right now” (especially when what you’re doing right now is, sitting on a cushion, staring at a wall) is frightening. And, while I can see the value of training myself to think of nothing in short bursts, I can’t let go of the idea that my thoughts, and my memories, are precious. They’re what make me me.
I’m thinking about this a lot because I’m frantically trying to memorise my show by Monday. It’s hard. It makes me want to hide from it by writing blog posts full of things we all already know.
