To the ancients,
memory is an active process. We remember those where we have an obligation; we
hold in memory those we are bound to protect. For us, memory is passive:
visited by memories, moved by them or suffering from them.
In the book of his
memory, Dante tells of love at first sight, loss, grief and salvation: La Vita
Nuova. He says his miraculous Beatrice ‘was a Christian of the thirteenth
century.’ My muse Rachel was a Christian of the twentieth century; she did not
live to see the twenty-first. Dante wrote for other Christians of the
thirteenth century, and for us, of the twenty-first century, and beyond.
Look at objects
you’ve saved, from bicycles to pictures, asking, Is this a happy memory? If a
bad memory, why keep it? Do we keep our memories as a warning? Not to repeat
remorse? Memento Mori is a remembrance or calling to mind of death, as a sign.
‘ Recordare, Jesu
pie: Remember, blessed Jesu, that I am
the cause of your journey, do not abandon me.’ Dante presented his beloved in
words written beyond all others. The
marvelous Beatrice lives with Rachel in memory, in the new life.
