Some memories flood us without being invited, especially the memories of difficulty, hurt, or loss.
Other memories must be sought after, spelunked from the earthy past, coaxed from memory’s sky. Those are the ones I’m interested in now.
There is a going back, a kind of search through childhood, that we can make, and with a specific memory focus and an intent we can encourage ourselves. Remembering, we can warm our minds up, sit by the fire of good times, have a chat with the past and drink up the sweetness of our lives.
I remember holding the head of my childhood dog Patches, and telling her some sorrow and being comforted by her friendship. I remember carrying my big, scroungy cat Red home with me — a found cat — and my mom letting me keep him. He became my fur buddy. I remember kittens born in my closet, the soft cries of the new presences, the surprise a few weeks later when their bright blue eyes popped open. I remember puppies born under the foundation of the nearby building, me crawling under there, bringing them out, so we could make sure they grew up safe, and tame and loved.
I remember baby jay birds, found on the ground, fallen from the nest. We fed one of the little guys dog food from the wrong end of a spoon and he survived and became our airy friend, even after he learned to fly. I remember going outside and him landing on my shoulder, to greet me. I was Saint Francis; he was my congregant; we had holy communion with each other, but I never preached to him.
These are good memories, my memories of my childhood animal friends. The house cats that live with me now — Megan and Shanaynay — are members of a long line of animals that have warmed and encougaged my life. I grew up with fur; I still like fur. Life is better, lived near a purr.
Perhaps God gave us the animals, to help us recover from the humans.
Memory — it’s fascinating. The memory scientists tells us that our memories are malleable; they change over time; often they aren’t very accurate, and yet they are reality’s storehouse from which we can constantly draw the wealth of our lives. Those furry friends from my past, they were real, and our friendships — they mattered to me.
I’m for it, for a gentle looking back, for remembering the good, for warming up our minds with all the safety, love, relationship, fun and wonder of the past. We have all experienced hard things, most certainly within memory there is pain — I easily remember the surprising treachery of a once close friend — but most certainly we all have had many good, healing things happen to us also.
There, waiting in the past, are sweet, good memories to be discovered again — and savored.
Thrive! 