|S. Dalì - The Disintegration of the Persistence of Memory|
Everything seems bleaker than it once was; even the world around me has a dismal and strange aspect, one I can hardly recognize. The normal order of things has changed irremediably, and all my fixed stars proved to be not so fixed after all. A series of dreams keep reminding me of my present state of tension, while others, in the past, anticipated it. Unfortunately, their message has only become clear with a hindsight; despite all my efforts, I was unable to correctly interpret them.
The Dragon has indeed smashed his way in, spitting fire, taking command, and rectifying my path; the decisions I wasn't able to make in the past because they were too painful, or because I was too blind, the Dragon has forced me to make them now, and he's now compelling me to move on.
Yet, no matter how much strength I might find in me, I still need something to cling on to, a port of call, a haven, a familiar nest where I can be nurtured and tender-rubbed on my belly.
The music of Ennio Morricone accompanies me as I write this post. To my side, a cup of organic bergamot flavored Earl Grey tea sends up warm gushes of vapor, as if it knew that warmth is what I need right now. The soothing and constant presence of a very special friend has been of great comfort and consolation.
The rest is remembrance.
More than ever, in these moments our soul turns to the memory of certain beautiful and touching instants of the past. Yet, the realization that these splinters of time, which arouse the strongest emotions, are now long gone and that they represent the inevitable end of something beautiful endows them with a melancholic and gloomy backtaste.
What to do? To remember or not to remember?
Is Lee Strasberg right, do we have to wait seven years before we can safely use remembrance for our artistic and personal purposes?
Ennio Morricone's music is now slowly veering into more gentle and flannelly notes that seem to reflect the introspective and certainly pathetic nature of my questions.
Is it good to linger on painful remembrance? Or should we just stop sighing and finally let go of those memories?
My feeling, as of now, is that they are at once painful and comforting, and their persistence has the sweet taste of sorrow.
How can we so nonchalantly disintegrate them?