Memories are Living Things
Memories are living things that grow and die. They wither the way we do. Our body is memory. I know this because I never met my great grandfather and yet I carry his nose on my face the way you carry yours. Everything is transformed by touch. This is the essence of love: change. This is the essence of us: to remember what once was.
There is this story of a warrior who was fascinated with weapons. Every day he would pick up a new weapon and train with it. He was fast, cunning, and very strong. One day he came across a sword master in the forest. To the warrior, the sword was the easiest weapon; it was the first one he picked up and the first one he got bored with. So the warrior challenged the master, expecting an easy fight. The warrior laid down five weapons and picked up the first, an axe. But the sword master parried every axe swing as if he was parrying a stick. So the warrior threw the axe down and picked up a scythe. He lunged forward like death but the sword master’s movements were too quick. After exhausting all of his weapons, the warrior threw his spear to the ground , admitting defeat.
He looked up at the sword master, “how are you so strong? All you know is a sword. I know every weapon in existence!”
The sword master turned to the warrior, the age on his face heavy like steel, “you claim to know much but have mastered nothing. Seek not to do a million things but to do one thing in a million ways.”
My way is the way of storytelling, and I do it in a million ways. Through poetry, acting, film, and any other medium I can get my hands on. My goal is to become one of the greatest storytellers in the world. But if in my life all I can muster is one really good story, that’s okay too.