We never really say goodbye
From Venice Beach, with love
“People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of a fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar.”
- Thich Nhat Hanh
A few years ago we went to LA, the whole fam-damily. Par for the course, we visited Venice Beach to see the sights. It was the perfect summer weekend day.
While the kids were busy eating ice cream, I spotted a man sitting cross legged on the ground with a cardboard sign that read:
“I’ll answer any question. $1”
So I took a dollar bill and approached him, joined him on warm cement.
“Hello!”
“Hi,” he answered with a slow smile. He was probably in his 30s though it was hard to say. He had a look I’d seen before — the sort of worn-in softness of a man who’d been sleeping rough for a long time. He smiled with his mouth closed to hide missing teeth. But an inner warmth glowed out from him as bright as the sun reflecting off his white tee.
“So here’s my question,” I said to him. “Things have been kinda hard lately at home. What can I do to make things easier?”
He looked at me while I spoke and he listened. He didn’t answer right away. He thought about it. Then he said this:
“You know, lately, I’ve been listening to more positive music. A lot of the music you hear — the pop music — can be stories about broken hearts and sad things.
“But there are some great newer artists [he named a couple, I think maybe Katy Perry was one but I don’t remember] who have really positive messages in their songs.
“It makes a difference what you listen to,” he said.
We talked a little more and then I thanked him. I gave him the dollar.
I think about that man often
I wished I had more cash on me than that. I wish I’d given him more than that dollar. Because what he said stuck with me.
But it was more than just the advice.
It was his presence which stuck with me. His choice to make that sign, to talk with strangers, to give advice — to believe in his ability to give advice — opened up a door in me.
Listening to each other
The Zen teachers want us to live in the moment — to listen to the rain and to be here now.
“It is the inner clinging that entangles us,” Buddhist monk Tilopa said.
A path to enlightenment asks us to let go of the past. It wants us not to worry and not to try to control the future.
But I do cling. I have a lust for memories. As I writer, I often decorate my poetry and stories with details and anecdotes I’ve curated from the past.
Current moments are often thoughts drenched in my experiences of the past.
It’s not that I want to actually GO back.
It’s that I feel so happy to have experienced such beauty. I want to understand what I’ve learned and who I have become.
Why wouldn’t I want to revel in that again, now and then?
What we make of our memories
I grew up in the 8-track era with plenty of access to vinyl (at all speeds), mix tapes, CDs, mix CDs, ripping CDs, mp3 players (pre-iTunes), and all of the iterations of digital music that have evolved since video killed the radio star.
I have a memory of listening to “Rio” by Duran Duran in my rec room with my best friend Bridget. This would have been 1984 after the band finally caught hold. Bridget and I played “Hungry Like the Wolf” over and over singing into air mikes to our favorite band member.
This memory is vivid. It really happened and it holds an idea of my life then — of pure friendship and of fun. For me, this memory isn’t about that moment in time, but what that moment in time had to teach me.
The problem with memory, as photographer Sally Mann says, lies in its perceived truth. “(M)emory’s truth … is to scientific, objective truth as a pearl is to a piece of sand.”
In that regard, memory is like Instagram. It’s based on reality, but it’s filtered and polished so that it becomes an unrecognizable version of who I am or wish to be. I have to remember that memory isn’t exact.
And like social media, memory makes it easy to never say goodbye to anyone — friends, lovers, those who have died.
Reliving memories of happy times — revisiting feelings of joys past — complicates my intrinsic experience of loneliness.
In life there’s no escaping aloneness. I know its truth: I came into this world alone and I will go out alone. Love helps. My experience of love with and through others is the light that most often dispels that loneliness.
It’s human nature to want to dispel that dark feeling. Loneliness acts like a frozen tundra where feelings are stored for some later date.
No wonder the love living in memories rushes in — to be useful! To warm up the spaces, to fill them with its honeyed light.
No wonder the word “nostalgia” sounds so sweet to say. It feels like a remedy.
“Don't forget the love we shared today
Sweet memories to keep us warm along the way
I'll hold you in my heart so don't you cry
'Cause we never really say goodbye.” — Captain & Tennille
Brain science has informed my practice of mindfulness. I recognize the value of settling into pure consciousness without thought. At the same time, the present moment is where the memories exist. The synapses and physiology and chemistry of my brain produces the consciousness. It exists in a context. When we remember, we do not go back to the time the memory was first formed. The current iteration of that memory, however it may have morphed exists only in the present. What I am experiencing in the present moment is shaped by prior experiences. The my perception of the present moment is filtered and enhanced by what is present in my brain. That is consciousness. At least that is what I would tell Sam Harris, were he here and willing to listen.