There's a place that I've known for as long as I can remember. It's a big house, with a big garden where there are white rabbits. I have fond childhood memories of the wonderful weather and the sweet old lady that lives there. The only problem is that recently, I came to the realisation that this place doesn't exist.
The reason I'm writing about this in the first place is that I was just listening to some solo double bass, and somehow it just synchronised flawlessly with a dream I had a few months ago. I dreamt of The Place, and it was no longer the home that flourished with bright yellow laughter and soft, content voices. It was no longer the place that came to mind when I thought 'haven'. It was instead another melancholy corner of the world, not burnt down or torn apart, but abandoned - forgotten.
The door that was once left ajar for the children to run in and out as they played was now carelessly left wide open, dispelling even the slightest sense that those who left The Place behind would at least wish to preserve it. It was cold and foggy that day, and as I let myself in, I saw that the fog had worked its way in and enveloped the staircase. I didn't expect to see the old woman, but there she was, abandoned along with her home, standing next to the staircase, the passion, the life, the memories of the summers of alacrity, all torn from her by that merciless son-of-a-bitch, Time. I don't remember what I said to her, but her response was brief. All I remember is leaning in to kiss her forehead and watching her walk away.
I have asked my mother many times about The Place, and each time I recall a new detail, I receive the same blank response. How is it that I could construct such vivid memories on my own and fool myself into holding onto them for all these years? I suppose some of us have a greater need for consolation than others. Perhaps in my case, my mind has betrayed me.
Or maybe these "memories" aren't in fact the result of a yearning for consolation - maybe they are the result of a yearning for escape. I have always loved monochrome photographs, John William Waterhouse's paintings, old tattered handwritten letters, and hammocks. They all represent worlds far removed from the one I live in (yes, even the hammocks). Whether they represent simpler times, elements of fantasy, romantic stories, or a leisurely lifestyle, they each represent a means of escape from the mundane life that I have grown accustomed to.
I suppose that is one explanation for my obsession with trees - they bridge the world I live in with the world of fantasy, they persevere through generations and they can hold the most fascinating stories. Of course, when it comes to my obsession with trees, that doesn't even scratch the surface.
The reason I'm writing about this in the first place is that I was just listening to some solo double bass, and somehow it just synchronised flawlessly with a dream I had a few months ago. I dreamt of The Place, and it was no longer the home that flourished with bright yellow laughter and soft, content voices. It was no longer the place that came to mind when I thought 'haven'. It was instead another melancholy corner of the world, not burnt down or torn apart, but abandoned - forgotten.
The door that was once left ajar for the children to run in and out as they played was now carelessly left wide open, dispelling even the slightest sense that those who left The Place behind would at least wish to preserve it. It was cold and foggy that day, and as I let myself in, I saw that the fog had worked its way in and enveloped the staircase. I didn't expect to see the old woman, but there she was, abandoned along with her home, standing next to the staircase, the passion, the life, the memories of the summers of alacrity, all torn from her by that merciless son-of-a-bitch, Time. I don't remember what I said to her, but her response was brief. All I remember is leaning in to kiss her forehead and watching her walk away.
I have asked my mother many times about The Place, and each time I recall a new detail, I receive the same blank response. How is it that I could construct such vivid memories on my own and fool myself into holding onto them for all these years? I suppose some of us have a greater need for consolation than others. Perhaps in my case, my mind has betrayed me.
Or maybe these "memories" aren't in fact the result of a yearning for consolation - maybe they are the result of a yearning for escape. I have always loved monochrome photographs, John William Waterhouse's paintings, old tattered handwritten letters, and hammocks. They all represent worlds far removed from the one I live in (yes, even the hammocks). Whether they represent simpler times, elements of fantasy, romantic stories, or a leisurely lifestyle, they each represent a means of escape from the mundane life that I have grown accustomed to.
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| John William Waterhouse - A Mermaid |
I suppose that is one explanation for my obsession with trees - they bridge the world I live in with the world of fantasy, they persevere through generations and they can hold the most fascinating stories. Of course, when it comes to my obsession with trees, that doesn't even scratch the surface.
wow.. Obsessed with trees..?
ReplyDeleteReading this makes be believe that you'll even go to sleep under the fabled Indian ghost tree after sunset (banyan tree)...!!
Nice Blog.
U got urself a new follower..:)
http://hamza-the-philosophaster.blogspot.com/
i think trees are cool. there were loads of trees in the garden of my old house. the coconut tree was the most intriguing, it was so tall and and old and the trunk was soooo big. my brother and i managed to climb halfway up that thing :O
ReplyDeletethe other time/life you mentioned seems pretty awesome, and so different from the one we're living in now. i suppose the 'escape' thing you said makes sense.
LOL @ Hamza's comment^
I love Yo-yo Ma's Bach concertos!
ReplyDeleteYou're probably a lucid dreamer. I know I am. When I sleep, my mind converts whatever my conscience has picked up consciously or subconsciously during the past few days and just, spins an entirely huge new twist on them. I have very weird dreams due to this fact, but they're all reality-themed, unlike yours.
I found the lines "How is it that I could construct such vivid memories on my own and fool myself into holding onto them for all these years? I suppose some of us have a greater need for consolation than others. Perhaps in my case, my mind has betrayed me." especially poignant.
@Hamza: I haven't heard of this tree, and I googled it, but I'm still not certain what you're talking about. I think I'd rather sleep IN a tree rather than under it. I'm glad you like the blog.
ReplyDelete@Furree: I think trees are way more than just cool. But cool is a start. I also spent a lot of my childhood climbing trees. When I lived in Toronto, there was a valley behind my apartment building and I'd spend most evenings there.
@(Umm...)TGWTBE: I don't know if it had so much to do with lucid dreaming as with putting together images that I've always had in my head, and then just making up everything in between those images. And I guess, it all just stayed in my mind all these years until there was no way to discriminate between the parts that I had imagined and the parts that I had experienced.
It's always really nice hearing good things about specific parts of your work. Somehow you just feel more appreciated.
Oh my gosh. This post made me feel all...reflective.
ReplyDeleteI like that.
Also, my FAVORITE line from this entire thing was, "...they bridge the world I live in with the world of fantasy..."
That was pure genius right there.
I think this is the basis of everything we like and dislike, which in turn defines who we are. You like trees because it means something different to you, because it is "a means of escape". I think what you're trying to say is that trees are ancient, seemingly timeless. They have been through centuries of history, they were here when we were born, when our forefathers and mothers were here, and they will live on as our legacy. Also, the theme of nature vs. manmade is prevalent in everything we create or do. For instance, the Japanese earthquake and subsequent tsunami was nature at its most relentless level, and then the concerns with the nuclear plant meltdowns was Man's own fault.
ReplyDeleteAnd I love the cello solo you linked to! I don't usually listen to classical music. I know, shame on me :/ I don't rly listen to music at all unless it's something I rly rly like at the time. And then usually it's something from the radio or something siiigh. I do like the alternative, indie scene, such as the Zolas, the Stars, and even Sufjan Stevens, but I don't have time to listen to music all the time and I don't have an iPod = = Never rly had the need for one. Since.. well, I don't listen to music 24/7.
Woah I think I lost my train of thought.
Anyway, great post, really made me think, and I love posts like these :D Keep writing!
P.S. I love older films for the same reason ("means of escape"). The air, the behaviour, the relationships between people are so different, even from the 1960's or something. It's different, and it makes me feel as if I'm part of something more, rather than my boring ol' life. Cheers!