It was agreed, that my endeavours should be directed to persons and characters supernatural, or at least romantic, yet so as to transfer from our inward nature a human interest and a semblance of truth sufficient to procure for these shadows of imagination that willing suspension of disbelief for the moment, which constitutes poetic faith. Mr. Wordsworth on the other hand was to propose to himself as his object, to give the charm of novelty to things of every day, and to excite a feeling analogous to the supernatural, by awakening the mind’s attention from the lethargy of custom, and directing it to the loveliness and the wonders of the world before us.[4]
Judith Barrington
In “Interiors”, I tell a story which seems connected to what you recount about the local teacher, particularly when you say “to discover one’s memory to have been so absolutely wrong entailed working through a real fear that she, herself, might disappear with the revelation.” I had a similar experience of discovering that I’d remembered something entirely wrong. I describe it in that essay as a sensation similar to when one wakes up and can’t figure where one is: a sensation of falling into a void. What occurs to me here is something that, for me, was a central issue in writing memoir. A central fear or block, perhaps. I felt instinctively that if I wrote down, and shaped and revised, my story as best I could remember it, then I would be left only with the written artefact—not with any “genuine” memory of the experiences. I had a sense that the writing would replace the memory, and that it would be fixed. Rather as a photograph becomes the picture one remembers of someone. For some reason, this frightened me. I saw it as a step in losing my memory altogether, perhaps. Anyway, when I did write the memoir, Lifesaving, I discovered that my fears were entirely true, but also that it didn’t matter. If I hadn’t fixed those memories into the words on the page, then probably they would have become fixed just through the act of remembering over and over. In fact, in the last chapter of Lifesaving, I describe a breakthrough that occurred when I saw something in a movie that shifted my repeated memories and gave me a new perspective. But those memories had, in fact, become fixed, just as they would, in new words, become fixed when I wrote them down. As for how remembering is the same or different than artistic expression—well, I tend to think that the very act of working with language to refine and pinpoint meaning, is a kind of refining of memory itself. Sometimes, in the act of revising, and struggling to convey the “truth” of an experience, the memories become clearer, new memories emerge, remembering becomes more nuanced. I’m a great believer in the power of language itself to talk back to the writer. I think the work of revision—of trying to make sentences rhythmic, varied, colorful, etc.—actually deepens memory and understanding.
The Catskills
“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfil themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured.
― Herman Hesse
“meditate on the passage: Write down answers to the following questions: What does this text show me about God for which I should praise or thank him? What does the text show me about my sin that I should confess and repent of? What false attitudes, behavior, emotions, or idols come alive in me whenever I forget this truth? What does the text show me about a need that I have? What do I need to do or become in light of this? How shall I petition God for it? Finally: How would this change my life if I took it seriously—if this truth were fully alive and effective in my inward being? Also, why might God be showing this to me now? What is going on in my life that he would be bringing this to my attention today?”
― Timothy Keller, Prayer: Experiencing Awe and Intimacy with God
“If we give priority to the outer life, our inner life will be dark and scary. We will not know what to do with solitude. We will be deeply uncomfortable with self-examination, and we will have an increasingly short attention span for any kind of reflection. Even more seriously, our lives will lack integrity. Outwardly, we will need to project confidence, spiritual and emotional health and wholeness, while inwardly we may be filled with self-doubts, anxieties, self-pity, and old grudges.”
― Timothy Keller, Prayer: Experiencing Awe and Intimacy with God
Fresh Snow
along the way 