February 5, 2020
Dear Brynn,
A couple weeks ago, I was at Monday night contemplative prayer group. In the meditative silence, my mind was not only wandering, but there was also real risk of me falling asleep…so I found myself in that weird, middle space between waking life and dreams…That space that makes random thoughts seem like intergalactic, groundbreaking ideas; that space where even the most far-out images seem commonplace; that space from which all the answers to the mysteries of the universe are at our fingertips…Frankly, it’s a space I wasn’t supposed to be in in the middle of prayer group (so I guess this is somewhat of a confession as well!)!
And yet, God was working within my wandering mind and psychedelic musings that night. The phrase that came to me in that liminal, dream-like space was “experience of memory,” followed by some other words that are now lost in the ether. These past couple weeks, I’ve been accompanied by this phrase and have been thinking about it from time to time. I think there must be a reason I’ve remembered it. Maybe this “experience of memory” is a cousin to “déjà vu;” maybe it’s a sort of deeper generational, ancestral memory; or maybe it’s some sort of inexplicable access-to-past-lives thing; maybe it’s a combination…I don’t know; I’m still romping around with it. Some things I’ve been thinking about (something that’s alive for me now…thanks for asking!):
I’m thinking about my first trip to Disneyland and how utterly magical it was for my 4 year old self. I remember having an eerie and delighted feeling when I got to pose with Cinderella and feel her satin gloved hand holding mine. I loved riding the spinning teacups and my grandparents bought me a Mickey Mouse sun visor. Years later while looking through a family photo album, my mom told me I had a terrible temper tantrum on that trip. I honestly have no recollection of this. I’m sorry that I made the Happiest Place on Earth not so happy for my parents and grandparents; I’m embarrassed that I most certainly caused a scene; yet even knowing this, I still “experience this memory” with nothing but the glee and joy of a child.
That being said, I’m struck by how we can be in the same place at the same time and have entirely different experiences; one of us could be having a deeply moving, transformative experience while the other is in the middle of a moment that will be forgotten by the time they put their pajamas on that night. We each “experience memory” in a different way: sometimes drastically different, sometimes just nuances, depending on who we are and what we’re holding and what we value.
I’ve also been thinking about how we encounter the memory we experience. Sometimes it’s a memory that dwells in our bones, even though perhaps we weren’t old enough to be aware of it. I think of the experience of people who were adopted as infants, before their minds started recording memories, yet their hearts are forever shaped and influenced by their beginnings. Then there are those memories we experience that we didn’t actually live firsthand. I think of my grandparents in rural Pennsylvania, breathing in the lush air with the same vigor they practiced their Christian faith; I think of the stories of my grandma and other relatives in Hiroshima who survived the dropping of the atomic bomb. I’ve never lived in either of these places and times; both seem foreign to me…yes, very different from life as I know it. However, when I visit both places, it’s like I have an experience of memories: of times and events and ways of living that have never actually been part of my physical or temporal existence. Being there feels like a homecoming, like my soul is familiar with the energy of the place, even if my body and language feel awkward and out of place.
And, as I think about this “experience of memory,” I can’t help but be led to think about the textures of a memory, memories sloshing around in my mouth, memories with tunes so familiar and yet I can’t quite put my finger on the songs. Memories can be pretty slippery and stealthy things. I think about the dear, dear folks who I have had the honor of serving with dementia and how memory from 2 minutes ago is elusive and yet, the memory of that red ball on their 5th birthday is so vivid; they can recite long passages of Scripture in a way I wish I could.
And, of course when I think about memory—the exploration, the relishing, the collecting of it—I think of you and the powerful ways you and Nikiko are leading us in the Yonsei Memory Project; I think of your poetry that captures the experience of memory in tender, intimate, universal ways. The experience of memory is both deeply personal and deeply communal and I give thanks for how you guide us and inspire us in experiencing our memories…and also making new ones!
Onward! (as your mom says) and with love, Akiko