Losing my Memory
I forget why I said that. I’m like a drop of water babbling in the stream, there for a moment and then forgetting everything in a dark ocean current or a wave, a crystal moment in the clouds or a drop of water on a late rose. Piles of old letters, mine and others are spread on the floor, turning to dust, mingling. Memories,
“………..The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity.”
“………..But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know.
Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?
Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,
Round the corner. Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.
There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,
In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
And the bird called, in response to
The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.”
Quotes are from ‘Four Quartets’ by T S Eliot.