I believe that love fights for the meaningful, for depth and matter, in a world that seems to strive to be no deeper than the flat surface of a mirror, the centimeters of a puddle on the sidewalk. On one hand, things are only things and we are just passing through this world. On the other hand, that painted rock or piece of ribbon or dried up flower or cookie tin I found at a thrift store that’s exactly like the one my grandmother had, are priceless pieces of memory and soul, the tactile, visual, manifestation and representation of a meaningful moment, or person, a hope, a dream, a reminder to have faith, to believe, to hold on, of something good, of something that mattered and matters, of love. Our things are not only things, they are pieces of us, extensions of our bones, mired in the beating of our hearts, mired in the scent of our being, in everything that lingers of us after we are gone, and helps to give us comfort while we are here. I am sentimental.
I wrote this yesterday, after looking at some of the pictures of the devastation of Hurricane Harvey, people who lost everything, the things that are only things, and those things that are irreplaceable, because they have so much meaning. If you’d like to donate to the relief effort, here’s a link to the American Red Cross.