Memory is the repository of the past, which is where most of our living takes place. We have divided life into past, present, and future, and this division, like all of our divisions, removes us from the fullness of living, from the mysterious unknown and unknowable movement of life that is the source of all beauty. The past exists only in memory, and the future is merely a projection of past memories. Now, this moment, is all there is.
When I have gazed into a tidal pool
And seen the texture exquisite of stone,
Of life and plant, deep in the lucid cool,
It seems no greater wonder could be known.
Yet there's a cleanness I have known in dreams --
In those rare dreams that are like blessed wine --
A pure transparency wherein it seems
Is traced the form of the Creator's line.
Distinct and clear appears each one and thing,
And every grain of sand, as though I see
Through unseen water; and the angels sing
An unheard tone from heaven's melody.
So wonder grows to crystal-cut lucidity
Defining the great pattern of eternity.