Sobriquet 16.3: Songs of Innocence, Songs of Experience
I have this one childhood memory that, every so often, flashes across my mind. I think it's a rather revealing memory, too, both about me and, to an extent, about humanity. Thus I share it.
I remember playing outside with my friends, Brett and Lacey, when we saw some sort of cottony seed floating by in the breeze. This was summer, I believe, and quite sunny. The breeze was soft, the situation perfect for an idealized memory. Anyway, these seeds resembled the puffy dandelion seeds children blow on, but may have come from some other flora, perhaps a milkweed plant or some such thing. A botanist I am not. As we saw the white clusters swirl and dance by, Lacey caught one in her hand. We looked at it, and my friends explained to me that catching such a seed, and wishing upon it, would enable the wisher to die at precisely the same moment as everyone in their family, particularly their parents.
Now, what's striking about this idea, for me in any case, is the strange combination of childish behavior and rather mature existential concern. I mean, think about the wish and what it implies. On the most superficial level, it simply reveals that the children do not wish to live without their family, do not want to have to cope with the separation of mortality. On a slightly deeper level, it reveals something a bit more intriguing, namely an ingrained sense of the horror of that mortality, an inkling of life's great tragedy long before most people begin to question the nature of human existence.
I've always liked the image, always cherished the memory, always felt the ever-strengthening terror and dread the childhood superstition tellingly predicts will envelop and jaundice our worldview and make memories of itself all the more poignant.
I remember playing outside with my friends, Brett and Lacey, when we saw some sort of cottony seed floating by in the breeze. This was summer, I believe, and quite sunny. The breeze was soft, the situation perfect for an idealized memory. Anyway, these seeds resembled the puffy dandelion seeds children blow on, but may have come from some other flora, perhaps a milkweed plant or some such thing. A botanist I am not. As we saw the white clusters swirl and dance by, Lacey caught one in her hand. We looked at it, and my friends explained to me that catching such a seed, and wishing upon it, would enable the wisher to die at precisely the same moment as everyone in their family, particularly their parents.
Now, what's striking about this idea, for me in any case, is the strange combination of childish behavior and rather mature existential concern. I mean, think about the wish and what it implies. On the most superficial level, it simply reveals that the children do not wish to live without their family, do not want to have to cope with the separation of mortality. On a slightly deeper level, it reveals something a bit more intriguing, namely an ingrained sense of the horror of that mortality, an inkling of life's great tragedy long before most people begin to question the nature of human existence.
I've always liked the image, always cherished the memory, always felt the ever-strengthening terror and dread the childhood superstition tellingly predicts will envelop and jaundice our worldview and make memories of itself all the more poignant.
Comments
Post a Comment