Saturday, April 14, 2012
M is for Mnemosyne, goddess of memory, mother of the Muses.
Memory is mysterious. Is it any wonder it was personified by the Greeks. Sometimes Mnemosyne wakens to music - I hear a certain song, piano or guitar riff, and I remember a time and place, a love, a loss, a triumph, a failure. An aroma transports me to Mrs. B's kitchen in the Wadenhoe House in 1956 England.
We don't really know where memory lives. Is it in our mind, or our very flesh? People who get transplants report having memories that are not theirs; feelings odd to their remembered life experience.
Mnemosyne is a comfort and a bane, depending on the circumstance. I so appreciate her when an old song plays and she takes me back to forgotten times, places, loves..