Sunday, August 21, 2005
Sometimes I wonder about that tiny group of cells that once formed a cluster in my infant cranium, a skull still soft from birth and with the plate on top missing, not yet grown over. This group of cells would be the tiny cluster that connected with the auditory section of my brain; cells whose job was to recognize the murmurings of my mother’s voice comforting me, as she assured me that I was protected, and that I was safe and in a friendly place.
Today, in my seventieth decade, I wonder about the fate of those cells, as they broke down to form other cells. Where is their secret? Was it stored; the unique knowledge, recognition of my mother’s voice, to know its message of comfort and security.
Those cells slowly gave way as I grew & my brain developed. They disappeared painlessly and unnoticed, converted into matter my body used to create new brain tissue. But what of their message? Together, they then produced a tiny electrical impulse that told me I heard my mother’s voice, the sound of reassurance and comfort. When the cells became material for other cells, what happened to their message, that message that told me, of all the information my brain could obtain and contain, that this was a sound different than any other in my world? Where does that message lie today, all these years later? If my mother were to utter those sounds, could some remote corner in my brain still recognize the familiar soft reassurance? Would it still have the power to calm me? Or is the tiny electrical impulse gone, somehow lost in time & space?
There are times when I step out the door, or maybe I’m working in the yard, & the wind pipes up just a certain way--- maybe a fresh breeze from a particular direction, & I find myself noticing how that particular breeze would be perfect for sailing. I used to sail, & there is always that breeze that speaks to you telling you it’s just right for your boat, you happen to have. The boat I enjoyed the most was a somewhat tender 14’ sloop-rigged boat, that lacked roller reefing, though it dearly needed it. Its sails made her a trifle overpowered, but in just the right breeze, she was a pleasure to sail. It was an experience all its own, to trim the boat up just right, with a good steady breeze of perhaps 7-10 knots, and head the boat just off the wind, sensing the combination of course and wind. There is a kind of balance I have not found in other experiences, not in ice-skating, nor kite flying, nor other sports made for man to interface with Nature. The boat seems to awaken, perhaps rise up & come to life in a way other inanimate objects cannot. The boat seems to speak to the skipper, ‘now---here we go, together, let’s capture this wind, let’s interact.’
Today, in my seventieth decade, I wonder about the fate of those cells, as they broke down to form other cells. Where is their secret? Was it stored; the unique knowledge, recognition of my mother’s voice, to know its message of comfort and security.
Those cells slowly gave way as I grew & my brain developed. They disappeared painlessly and unnoticed, converted into matter my body used to create new brain tissue. But what of their message? Together, they then produced a tiny electrical impulse that told me I heard my mother’s voice, the sound of reassurance and comfort. When the cells became material for other cells, what happened to their message, that message that told me, of all the information my brain could obtain and contain, that this was a sound different than any other in my world? Where does that message lie today, all these years later? If my mother were to utter those sounds, could some remote corner in my brain still recognize the familiar soft reassurance? Would it still have the power to calm me? Or is the tiny electrical impulse gone, somehow lost in time & space?
There are times when I step out the door, or maybe I’m working in the yard, & the wind pipes up just a certain way--- maybe a fresh breeze from a particular direction, & I find myself noticing how that particular breeze would be perfect for sailing. I used to sail, & there is always that breeze that speaks to you telling you it’s just right for your boat, you happen to have. The boat I enjoyed the most was a somewhat tender 14’ sloop-rigged boat, that lacked roller reefing, though it dearly needed it. Its sails made her a trifle overpowered, but in just the right breeze, she was a pleasure to sail. It was an experience all its own, to trim the boat up just right, with a good steady breeze of perhaps 7-10 knots, and head the boat just off the wind, sensing the combination of course and wind. There is a kind of balance I have not found in other experiences, not in ice-skating, nor kite flying, nor other sports made for man to interface with Nature. The boat seems to awaken, perhaps rise up & come to life in a way other inanimate objects cannot. The boat seems to speak to the skipper, ‘now---here we go, together, let’s capture this wind, let’s interact.’
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