REMEMBRANCE

REMEMBRANCE: Last spring, I dug out an old box hedge and replaced it with four small plants that are growing into a beautifully scented rosemary hedge. It was planted with love and in the spirit of remembrance that rosemary is synonymous with. It’s doing well. I brush my hand over the row when I walk up the path and inhale, to remember.

It feels cliche to say that we’re making memories all of the time. We move through life, gathering the things we hold dear, willingly releasing others, and papering over the cracks of things that released us against our will. We become increasingly vast fields of experience that can either expand or diminish us, depending on how we choose to frame the information.

More poignant, perhaps, than making our own memories, is the reality that one day we, ourselves, will be but a memory in the minds and hearts of others. This is a stark truth. It also lies at the very core of many contempletive practices, including yoga. I think about it often. I reconcile it with a firm belief that what survives after death, after all the joys, sorrows, heady gains and devastating losses is love, and that in this deep current of timelessness, none of us is ever truly lost or swept away.

For my brother and his friends, who lost one dear to them, way too soon.

Photo: Rosemary hedge, first harvest