Forget Me Not ...

As they stared blankly. in dumb misery deepening as they slowly realized all they had seen and all they had lost, a capricious little breeze, dancing up from the surface of the water, tossed the aspens, shook the dewy roses and blew lightly and caressingly in their faces; and with its soft touch came instant oblivion. For this is the last best gift that the kindly demi- god is careful to bestow on those to whom he has revealed himself in their helping: the gift of forgetfulness. Lest the awful remembrance should remain and grow, and overshadow mirth and pleasure, and the great haunting memory should spoil all the after-lives of little animals helped out of difficulties, in order that they should be happy and lighthearted as before.

--- The Wind in the Willows

Oh what a sweet gift it is. The gift of forgetfulness. To purge thoughts of no use. To wipe away memories no longer dear. To wash away the remembrances no longer worth attaching to.

As Engelbert Humperdinck would put it - "How could you leave without regret? Am I that easy to forget?"

Or is it that we begin to forget some memories because new ones have taken their place. We had nothing against the old ones though. Its just that they faded away into obscurity.

But why would this happen. What would lead someone to churn out the remembrances that one has. Memories are linked to people. Memories are linked to places. Memories are linked to events. You can forget the people, you can forget the places, you can forget the events. But you cannot drive out the abstract emotions that have had a lasting impact on you via them.

People come and people go. They maybe near you, they may be distances apart. They are with you today, and yet years away. The memories you cherish the most are the ones that bring a smile to your face even after ages of their having happened. The sudden warmth you feel, the glow that lightens up your face.

Who would be cruel enough to ignore these. Shun them like pestilences. One man's junk is another man's treasure they say. Apt words. Your golden days can at best be the indifference in the lives of others. What then should one do. Pluck such thoughts off? Or bury them in so deep that they get lost amongst the million other indifferences.

I for one, cannot do either. I wish i could. Revisit the Tabula Rasa as i so want to. But no, I have learnt over time that starting clean is probably not always the correct way out. It maybe the easy path, but then i choose not to take it. As Frost puts its, I took the road less traveled. Beautiful lines:

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Face my fears and face my defeats. Face my sufferings and face my pain. This I must do.
To try and remember, to keep thinking, to keep longing, to keep hoping, to keep having the faith, to not give up even if the cause is lost.

The gift of forgetfulness is the easy way out.
But as Frost yet again so serenely puts it as "my best bid for remembrance", i quote one of my favorite passages again.

Whose woods these are I think I know,

His house is in the village, though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound’s the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lonely, dark, and deep,

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.