My Name is Memory

I have lived more than a thousand years. I have died countless times. I forget precisely how many times. My memory is an extraordinary thing, but it is not perfect. I am human. The early lives blur a bit. It is macrocosmic. There was my childhood. There have been many childhoods. And even in the early part of my soul I reached adulthood many times. These days, in every one of my infancies, the memory comes faster. We go through the motions. We look oddly at the world around us. We remember. I say “we” and I mean myself, my soul, my selves, my many lives. I say “we” and I also mean the other ones like me who have the memory, the conscious record of experience on this earth that survives every death. There aren´t many, I know. Maybe one in a century, one born out of millions. We find one another rarely, but believe me, there are others. At least one of them has a memory far more extraordinary than mine.

Fields of Midnight Memory / Vanessa Compton

I have been born and died many times in many places. The space between them is the same. I wasn´t in Bethlehem for Christ´s birth. I never saw the glory that was Rome. I never bowed to Charlemagne. At that time I was scratching out a crop in Anatolia, speaking a dialect unintelligible to the villages north and south. (…)

Sometimes I feel more akin to houses and trees than to my fellow human beings. I stand around watching the waves of people come and go. Their lives are short, but mine is long. (…)

I have seen beauty in countless things. I have fallen in love…

Extract from My Name is Memory, Ann Brashares

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