Another Bandage

I’ve just noticed for the first time that this true event reads like a dream — in fact, more like a dream than some of the dreams I’ve recorded. Now, what do you suppose that means? And what does it mean that the memory of the event also seems like a dream? Does it mean memory, in general, is a dream? When I say, No, this really happened, do I enter the realm of make-believe? Or is it all cut and dried, simple and straightforward? A matter of choice? Do I choose, for instance, to recall what I think of as a happy, enchanted childhood as a way of keeping certain things buried? Certainly I have some unpleasant memories. Of course I do. But there is nothing that happened that I wish would not have happened. Not only would that be pointless, I’m grateful for it all. Or is my gratitude just one more way of keeping things hidden? Maybe each time I say I’m grateful, I’m applying another bandage on top of a bandage that’s already there. Wouldn’t it be better to expose the wound to the light of day and let it heal once and for all? But what if there is no wound? Should I imagine one? After all, I wouldn’t want to waste bandages.

[ 2021 ]