remembering

When you allow yourself to remember that you truly are a multidimensional being, you will begin experiencing yourself in a much more expanded way. What previously was believed to be supernatural becomes natural. Then you come to a realisation that now you can see what has always been there yet it remained hidden to you who chose to see something else.

The words of the bards come down the centuries to us, warm with living breath.

But often, in the world's most crowded streets,But often, in the din of strife,There rises an unspeakable desireAfter the knowledge of our buried life;A thirst to spend our fire and restless forceIn tracking out our true, original course.

I remember when your name was just another name that rolled without thought off my tongue.Now, I can__ look at your name without an abundance of sentiment attached to each lettter.Your name, which I played with so carelessly, so easily, has somehow become sacred to my lips.A name I won__ throw around lightheartedly or repeat without deep thought.And if ever I speak of you, I use the English language to describe who you were to me. You are nameless, because those letters grouped together in that familiar form_.. carries too much meaning for my capricious heart.

. . .though the names of lovers are forgotten in time, their nameswritten across the sky as ogham threads are tracedbetween the stars

There were days when I still put on make up in case you__ come back,but I wear the same clothes and shower in the rainand eat when I can and sleep when I can,which is rare and not often,so if you__ see me nowon these streetswhere I once imagined walking with youyou__ have a hard time recognising me.I takes a lot to run away.

Not all of the moments what you encountered in your mind are reminisced, the time will remember us.

even in death, his last breath was poetryexisting in the wind and on the breeze of"it used to be likes" forever remembering,yet never relivinghis lifewill never be what it used to be like.

Telling our personal story constitutes an act of consciousness that defines the ethical lining of a person__ constitution. Recounting personal stories promotes personal growth, spurs the performance of selfless deeds, and in doing so enhances the ability of the equitable eye of humanity to scroll rearward and forward. Every person must become familiar with our communal history of struggle, loss, redemption, and meaningfully contemplate the meaning behind our personal existence in order to draft a proper and prosperous future for succeeding generations. Accordingly, every person is responsible for sharing their story using the language of thought that best expresses their sanguine reminiscences. Without a record of pastimes, we will never know what were, what we now are, or what we might become by steadfastly and honorably struggling with mortal chores.

Did you ever look back at some moment in your past and have it suddenly grow so vivid that all the intervening years seemed brief, dreamlike, impersonal__he motions of a May afternoon surrendered to routine?

Sitting on the floor, I'd replay the past in my head. Funny, that's all I did, day after day after day for half a year, and I never tired of it. What I'd been through seemed so vast, with so many facets. Vast, but real, very real, which was why the experience persisted in towering before me, like a monument lit up at night. And the thing was, it was a monument to me.

Nobody had forgotten anything here. In Berlin, you had to wrestle with the past, you had to build on the ruins, inside them. It wasn't like America where we scraped the earth clean, thinking we could start again every time.

Illumination is remembering your identity as the eternal spirit and energy that animates all that is.

Sometimes, remembering hurts too much.

Tuoni takes her by the shoulders and turns her to face him. __emember this Anya. Dreams have power; they show old truths you are too blind to see on waking. They make you remember memories that are lost in the blood flowing through your veins. Remember her magic. Remember what she did when you wake,_ he says before he pushes her off the cliff.

You are speaking...as if the pleasure were one thing and the memory another. It is all one thing... what you call remembering is the last part of the pleasure.

You know the saying a rolling stone gathers no moss? I'm the opposite. I've gathered too much, and when one thing happens, it brings up everything else that's ever been similar to it. I don't just feel things once and then move on. I fell them over and over again, and the only new thing is whatever precipitated the memory of the old, so it never really feels new at all. Everything just gets integrated into one big giant ball...

The question of what exactly we remember when we listen to old recordings, or whether it can be called remembering at all, becomes less and less answerable over a lifetime.