The incredible majesty of the universe—where the simplest of the simple is far and away the most complex and where the most intricate is the the purest and simplest—may be the single most compelling argument that humankind is incapable of real understanding.
Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.
~ Buddha ~
Hundreds of obstacles dot the path between where I stand this morning and where I would need to be to have written a memoir…a biography…an autobiography. My poor memory probably is the first and most challenging impediment. In the absence of a reliable memory, coupled with the fact that useful source documents of my experiences do not exist, there’s little to tell. The second hurdle is the paucity of interesting or educational experiences in my life that could form the basis of my personal life story. Even if I had an exceptional memory as a resource, there would be no point in writing a book that very few people would find intriguing; a book others might want to read. Another genre might conceivably overcome the barriers to producing what some people might call “the story of my life.” That genre: autobiographical novel. I’ve played with the idea of writing biographies and autobiographies for quite some time. But only recently have I begun to consider whether an autobiographical novel might be the the product my unconscious mind has been wanting to create. Yet I think I would be somewhat embarrassed to admit to writing an autobiographical novel. But that’s only if I were to write it from the traditional autobiographical perspective. If, instead, the book were written as if it emerged from the words of an anthropomorphic emotion, that could address the snags. I’ve mentioned the autobiography of fire in this blog in brief (or longer) several times, including recently. I’m sure I have altered the title from time to time, calling it the unauthorized autobiography of fire. And I’ve considered that a biography of love might give readers an opportunity to examine a highly emotional subject from a dry—almost cold and calculated—perspective. This is what procrastinators do; we repeatedly think about actions we want to take and we should take, but the actions are so complex and overwhelming that we simply explore them over and over and over again as if they were our life’s work…when, in fact, they are simply inadequate justifications for eternal delays.
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The CHI Cancer Center, adjacent to the Genesis Cancer Center on the CHI campus, has a very large aquarium in the lobby. I do not know what kind of fish are in the tank, nor whether the water is fresh or salty. In fact, I know almost nothing about the aquarium, nor its residents. I wonder, though, who feeds the fish? How often? Who cleans the tank and when? Every time I see the aquarium, I think of the relaxing “spa” music I heard during my most recent massage. Something about the dim light inside the aquarium, the slow-moving fish moving effortlessly through the water, and memories of relaxing, calming music invade my mind when I enter that environment. Serenity transfixes me.
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