Anamnesis

Anamnesis

an•am•ne•sis - ænæmˈnisɪs  [an-am-nee-sis] noun, plural an•am•ne•ses

1. the recollection or remembrance of the past; reminiscence.

2. Platonism . recollection of the Ideas, which the soul had known in a previous existence, especially by means of reasoning.

3. the medical history of a patient.

4. Immunology . a prompt immune response to a previously encountered antigen, characterized by more rapid onset and greater effectiveness of antibody and T cell reaction than during the first encounter, as after a booster shot in a previously immunized person.

5. ( often initial capital letter ) a prayer in a Eucharistic service, recalling the Passion, Resurrection, and Ascension of Christ.

Origin:    1650–60; < Neo-Latin < Greek anámnēsis remembrance, equivalent to ana ( mi ) mnḗ ( skein ) to remember ( ana ana- + mimnḗskein to call to mind) + -sis -sis

Having opened this page years ago it is right that this is the first post.

 

I want to remember waking from the soft flannel nest of sleep when I was young, pulling on warm cotton clothes and feeling of the wooden steps beneath my bear feet in my parent’s home.

 

I want to remember the first breeze that contained the oceans mist, and the smell of seaweed on the Atlantic shore. I want to remember the embrace of the day as we set the alarm so we could step foot onto the cool sand in the dark outside, warm coffee in hand, just in time to see the sunrise over the water and the new day begin.

I want to remember the holy hush just before dawn, the mists rising out of the shallow valley, hovering over the water on the pond which holds the absurd plastic Mallard. I want to remember the way light slowly burns through the mist, allowing me to glimpse the horses as they graze on the alfalfa hay, just before I turn to head to work. How amazing to get to travel this road twice for two separate calls.

I want to remember Haligus Road and the sudden uprising of Canadian geese as they cut through the silence of the freshly cut field, honking and flapping and lifting into to the sky, oblivious to the barking dog in the car beside me. I want to remember their wild call as they effortlessly found their form - the perfect V - before disappearing into the morning sun.  I want to remember my search for the pair of Sand Cranes that glean the same fields, it is magic each time I spy them.

I want to remember the cold smell of Liam’s shampoo when I kiss his head at night and he comes in for a snuggle before ‘lights out,’ but since he is thirteen, I want to remember everything about this time.

I want to remember the September woods we walk together - the rich smells, the uneven ground beneath our feet, the earthy leaves clinging for life before they fall. I want to remember the branches and twigs that snap and crunch dry and brittle under foot from the drought we won’t soon forget. And when, exactly, did the grass become lush and green once more, as if to tease us with this last burst of color.  How subtle the sunlight’s dance when the bold bronze of summer has been exchanged for the golden hue of fall.

I want to remember the exquisite turning of this page in my life, as the road I travel each day become lined with trees a rich red glow that seems to send its branches raising giving homage to the God who called them into being. I want to remember this as if my minds-eye is saying “Don’t blink.” Every moment this scene is repainting itself,  each one more brilliant, each one fleeting, each one more fragile.

I want to remember the Rose of Sharon that bloomed in my back yard, and how the ‘volunteers’ just seemed to come up everywhere this year, sprouting through the dry grass like a powerful jeweled witness that came scatted amid other weeds declaring a silent victory to the fortitude of life when the news forecast proclaimed death, despair and famine. I want to remember the hybrid poplar we transplanted, while hearing, “hybrids won’t move their ground. Cut it down, and order a new one.”  I want to remember those neighbor voices in the background as we would faithfully water the stick in the ground each night. I want to remember the beauty of buds that sprouted from the stick, and the leaves that still hold fast to the tree we were told simply could not be.

I want to remember the mums that seemed to hold back, only to sprout buds and bring to bloom now at the end of September, long after I’d given up hope. I want to remember the glorious, yellow of the first flower spilling out of  its green closed cap.  And yes, I even want to recall each dandelion that has taken advantage of every broken and barren crack in the driveway. If it is a sign of resurrection hope, then I had best pay attention.

I want to remember the redheaded House Finch that comes each afternoon to stake claim on the feeder before the yellow colored, Golden Finch couple comes to chase him away. I want to remember these days before frost lays claim to every cherished, delicate  blossom and what remains of the picture in my mind.
 

I want to remember the rhythm of Monarch’s wings as it moved through the yard in search of the sunflowers. I want to remember the exhaustion of hauling years of neglect packaged now in lawn bags from a garden that longed for love. Then how that love turned into when 39, ½ cubic foot bags of river rock, called out to designed in that sacred space. 

I want to remember the beauty of solar lights on shepherd’s hooks and the accents along the pathway that allow me to sit peacefully while traffic passes, joggers and dog walkers all go by, all blissfully unaware of my presence in the area I worked to create. 

I want to remember how resident I am to see anything truly come to an end, and given my calling I relish the irony.  I see how even now I have left a few dead flowers hanging on, patiently waiting for me to summon my resolve, but my steady resolve has been greatly weakened. The presence of powerful grief in our home will weaken the heart of the strongest among us, for we are not even yet still ready for the life of our beloved Boomer to have come to an abrupt and seemingly unjust end.

As the season insists it will transition whether I desire it or not, I want to remember how it feels to live in one community for five years. To live in one state for 18, the longest I have ever known a home, and I feel my own roots sinking into the earth.  I want to remember that while rooted, change is part of being alive.

I want to remember, so I take time to sit in silence, to breathe into the stillness that is God, the point, where past and future are gathered. I want to remember the words I have learned-

O God of life,
amid the ceaseless tides of change which sweep away the generations,                          Your living spirit remains to comfort us and give us hope.                                              Around us is life and death, decay and renewal;

the flowing rhythm that all things obey.

Our life is a dance to a song we cannot hear.

Its melody courses through us for a little while, then seems to cease.

Whence the melody, and whither does it go?

In darkness and in light, we turn to You,

O Lord, the Source of life, the answer to all its mysteries.

I want to remember that even these, the most ordinary of days are extraordinary, as they have been days and nights have been limned with sadness, punctuated by sleepless hours, a host of worries, and questions that will remain without answers.  I want to remember that while giving up is not an option, surrender is possible - possible in that I can be sad and grateful at the same time; I can be filled up and emptied out, simultaneously; in my heavy, burdened heart I can still be overflowing with contentment.

I want to remember and will keep my eyes open, paying attention.  I will remember that no matter how long, life is short. I will remember, so I take time to listen for the dance.