Distracted by thoughts of death, Austin left his desk and made for the long, dark corridor - leading to the brightness of the lounge at its end. Once there, he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands as he sat in a plush, leather chair where he could look several stories down to the people making their way up and down the street.
The idea of death occurring slowly through lost thoughts placed him in one of those peculiar moods where he felt transcendent and detached from the world around him. It was the remembrance of some philosopher, then a blogger that had him thinking this way. The former discussed the impact of forgetting past experiences on one’s identity and how it led to the construction of the reality around them. The latter wrote a confessional entry about her indecisiveness and confusion over morality and faith.
It was obvious, at least to him, memories leak out over time and disappear - not locked away in some dark corner of the mind - but gone. However, he was unsure how the experiences remembered had a different effect on one’s identity than those forgotten.
Austin thought of the picture of the young blogger who amazed him with her talent and wisdom. Sure, she was the typical young writer posting pictures of herself staring off into the distance with a wise yet wistful expression (and would probably appreciate the use of those adjectives), but there was an age to the words she wrote; describing her quest for the assurances she somehow lost, and a longing for the past when she was untroubled by the search for truth.
The irony with this quest, he mused, would be that she would have to forget the path between where she was and where she is presently. She would have to kill who she is now; throw away her new experiences and ultimately forget them, to resurrect the identity - that she used to have - from the dead.
Either way, she could not hope to escape death. Perhaps the real conflict wasn't just a moral one or about faith, but which identity to nurture and which to let die.
"There you are!" Saul, a close colleague and friend, emerged from the dark hallway and found his place across the coffee table and on the couch. "Did you finish the proposal for Dr. Simon?"
"Just about finished. I had to take a little break from staring at the computer screen."
"You should bring your lap-top out here. Looks like the sun came out after all."
"I might have to do that."
"Is everything alright? You seem a bit preoccupied." Saul, having been his mentor for some time, seemed to take on a fatherly role in Austin's life.
"Yeah, I'm okay. Just in one of those deep thought modes," Austin said with a chuckle.
Saul smiled, "Alright, shoot."
"Do you remember who said that forgetting was a form of death?"
Saul thought for a moment; squinting his eyes. "Derrida? Kant? Most likely someone in that area. Maybe even Freud. Why?"
"Just thinking about that statement in the context of something someone wrote about trying finding herself in the midst of confusion over what is truth and longing for her carefree past."
"Well, I don't think her struggle is necessarily the result of something forgotten, unless she is to the point of finding the ideals she once held irrelevant. Then she may cast them aside and ultimately forget them as she embraces something new or, at least, begins a new search for truth."
"Causing the death of one identity in favor for another."
"Sure," Saul sat back, "Any form of change is, in a sense, death. Many consider dreams where death occurs a reprocessing of feelings associated with change and the unknowns coming with it."
"You know, I've changed quite a bit over the years, and when I look back to some of the things I remember of the past, it seems as though it happened to someone else."
"It did happen to someone else," Saul said with a smile, "but they're dead now - aren't they?"
Austin returned the smile. "Yes. Long gone."
It was obvious, at least to him, memories leak out over time and disappear - not locked away in some dark corner of the mind - but gone. However, he was unsure how the experiences remembered had a different effect on one’s identity than those forgotten.
Austin thought of the picture of the young blogger who amazed him with her talent and wisdom. Sure, she was the typical young writer posting pictures of herself staring off into the distance with a wise yet wistful expression (and would probably appreciate the use of those adjectives), but there was an age to the words she wrote; describing her quest for the assurances she somehow lost, and a longing for the past when she was untroubled by the search for truth.
The irony with this quest, he mused, would be that she would have to forget the path between where she was and where she is presently. She would have to kill who she is now; throw away her new experiences and ultimately forget them, to resurrect the identity - that she used to have - from the dead.
Either way, she could not hope to escape death. Perhaps the real conflict wasn't just a moral one or about faith, but which identity to nurture and which to let die.
"There you are!" Saul, a close colleague and friend, emerged from the dark hallway and found his place across the coffee table and on the couch. "Did you finish the proposal for Dr. Simon?"
"Just about finished. I had to take a little break from staring at the computer screen."
"You should bring your lap-top out here. Looks like the sun came out after all."
"I might have to do that."
"Is everything alright? You seem a bit preoccupied." Saul, having been his mentor for some time, seemed to take on a fatherly role in Austin's life.
"Yeah, I'm okay. Just in one of those deep thought modes," Austin said with a chuckle.
Saul smiled, "Alright, shoot."
"Do you remember who said that forgetting was a form of death?"
Saul thought for a moment; squinting his eyes. "Derrida? Kant? Most likely someone in that area. Maybe even Freud. Why?"
"Just thinking about that statement in the context of something someone wrote about trying finding herself in the midst of confusion over what is truth and longing for her carefree past."
"Well, I don't think her struggle is necessarily the result of something forgotten, unless she is to the point of finding the ideals she once held irrelevant. Then she may cast them aside and ultimately forget them as she embraces something new or, at least, begins a new search for truth."
"Causing the death of one identity in favor for another."
"Sure," Saul sat back, "Any form of change is, in a sense, death. Many consider dreams where death occurs a reprocessing of feelings associated with change and the unknowns coming with it."
"You know, I've changed quite a bit over the years, and when I look back to some of the things I remember of the past, it seems as though it happened to someone else."
"It did happen to someone else," Saul said with a smile, "but they're dead now - aren't they?"
Austin returned the smile. "Yes. Long gone."
