In The Power of Personal Storytelling Jack Maguire discusses “The Quest for
the Past.” He offers suggestions for unlocking memories, and ways
to “step back” and examine those memories from different points of view.
I like some of his wording, such as “mazy meanderings,” “feeling and thinking
backward,” and “loafing and inviting your soul.” I’m trying all his suggested
activities. This has been an interesting experience, though it proved to
be a difficult one at first.
Pondering the assignments makes me feel as
though I’m walking along a beach: the water represents the current of my
life—ebbing and flowing, deep in some spots; shallow in others, slowly rolling
along or rushing wildly away and out of sight. I have had to face the fact that
the memories I had randomly tossed away as if skipping stones across the water
are the very ones I now need to catch and pull in.
It is with some trepidation that I’ve begun
this search. I fear that the memories have sunk so far into oblivion as
to be irretrievable, or worse, that all the memories might come flooding out
and wash over me—drowning me in the past. So here I am, face-to-face with
the need to reexamine that which I thought I’d cast away forever.
I’ve been digging along the sandy bank, if you
will, amidst the flotsam and jetsam cluttering the muddied shores of my memory;
shores in my mind littered with cast offs from my life experiences as I search
for precious lumps of memory worthy enough to be molded into stories of value.
I have caught sight of some sparkly bright ones that I’ve plucked up, examined,
and even used. Interestingly, though, with each one I unearth
others.
I wish all my bits of story to be bright,
colorful, valuable—perfect. But, alas, they are not. I have, like
most people, a variety of memories, in various states of completion. Many
of them have been not just forgotten, but ignored, subdued, and buried.
Some seem to simply float by, like loose strands of sea weed, often taunting
me—just out of reach, or sometimes entangling me. Sometimes I only pull
up a muddy handful, but I’m still digging,
All in all, I’m finding that what I thought of
as a bottomless ocean of oblivion, where my memories had sunken out of sight
into fathomless depths never to be seen again, is in reality a treasure chest
filled with ideas, memories, and feelings— all interrelated; each evoking other
memories and feelings.
So if you’re looking for me, I’ll be on the
beach, sifting through the sands of the times of my life; searching for
treasures of memories, building castles of stories, looking for pearls of
wisdom, and hoping to catch a whale of a good tale.
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