The mutability of the past

I was in a museum last night, that came alive.  Wild dogs were chasing me, and the people with me were all trying to arm themselves.  But there were many things which were simply interesting, thing growing and blossoming, new life.

And it hit me when I woke up that, like many popular movies, “Night at the Museum” has a mythic, deep psychological component.

Our memories are storied in exhibits which are static.  Such and such happened.  I had this relationship with this person, that with that person.  We remember them as we perceived them at the time.

But 1) what you remember may be entirely colored by emotions which clouded your perception; and 2) the process of growth involves reremembering who you “are”, which means recasting your past, not in a false light, but in the light of movement, of flexibility.  All the parts and pieces in your personal museum can be brought to life, moved around, brought into synchrony with one another, all without violence.  What was, and fixed, need be no more.

Clearly, the past is the past, but what the past MEANS can be changed.  Changing who you are means changing who you were.  By this I mean that who you were was someone for whom becoming who you are now was always possible, but invisible.  I can’t see my path forward, even now, but that there is a path forward, I have no doubt.  That growth is possible, I have no doubt.  But until you occupy that new place, you cannot imagine it.

Ponder the phenomenon of colors.  Our eyes can see only a very small range of electromagnetic radiation.  What color would gamma rays be, if we could see them?  We can’t know.  It is as impossible for us to imagine, as sight is for those who have always been blind.

But in important ways, who you become is who you were.  It was always possible.  You are not so much growing into, as shedding ignorance.  To become more, you become less: less stupid.  Less unaware.  Everything we need to know is already there.

And every movement forward is, then, a movement backward too.

I think I am making sense here, but if you want to call nonsense, have at it.  It won’t bother me.

I will add, that protecting yourself against yourself is hiding memories and unpleasant feelings.  When you open the doors, and turn on the lights, and reanimate the past, it is all there, good, bad, and ugly.

This is a fascinating process, though.  I wish it for you.