Open Writing

I wonder where you keep your memories.

Are they all thrown together in a jumbled pile somewhere in the recesses of your mind? Like an assortment of sneakers, boots and rarely used sporting equipment, at the bottom of a wardrobe.

All the magic, inspiring and uplifting moments. Moments that make you smile when you recall them. Of happy times when life was pleasurable and full of promise like a warm breeze on a spring day.

And where are the not so happy moments? The darker moments, of times and situations rarely mentioned or only revisited by accident. The times when deeds were done and words were spoken, the content of which should stay on the floor of that wardrobe out of sight.

In Silence of the Lambs, Thomas Harris’s character, Dr Lecter, addressed these questions at an early age and created a ‘memory palace’. It is a palace that contains all of the good Doctor’s memories. It is a magnificent building, with each room devoted to a person, situation or experience beginning with the Doctor’s early traumatic childhood.

And like most of us, the rooms that contain the details of his early childhood are more sparsely furnished than in later life. I suspect however, that the line between what we might find traumatic and the Doctor might find pleasurable, is somewhat blurred.

He places each experience carefully it its place, with the correct background colours, appropriate lighting and when necessary, complementary music. An early dissection of a cheek is on a pedestal with minimal background colouring so as not to detract from what is, surgically, a superb piece of work from one so young. Ah, those halcyon fun filled college days.

In such a manner has he stored his entire life, as a squirrel might gather nuts and store them for the winter. During Doctor Lecter’s winter, his eight years of incarceration, he has visited these rooms within his palace many times and delights in renewing old acquaintances and savouring his unique memories; his forays into gourmet cooking.

Consequently he has been able to absent himself from the day to day indignities, inconveniences and brutality that would anger and frustrate lesser mortals. He will visit all the rooms of his palace at various times and enjoy no small amount of pleasure during these moments.

So in this respect Dr Lecter displays a rational, organised and systematic mind; notwithstanding certain…eccentricities.

And if you built your own memory palace would everything be well lit and displayed unapologetically for all the world to see? Would you happily take friends and relatives on a tour of all the rooms, throwing open doors and inviting criticism and the closest scrutiny?

Or would you prefer that certain rooms in the basement of your palace stay closed, not open to the public and secured by padlock and chain, both of which will hopefully gather rust. I suspect we all have recollections, thoughts or actions we’d prefer to keep tucked away at the bottom of the wardrobe. Deeds best forgotten and left to languish and die with the passage of time.

My own palace, whilst much more modest, grows each day. In one room I store the impressions of the first time I saw snow and fed ducks skidding to a stop on an ice filled pond. Next door is a collection of my days exploring the soft green countryside of France during the change of seasons. And yet another contains memories of past relationships, and the joys and pleasures of knowing another human being. All these rooms are well lit, with powerful lights flooding down on the brighter, more joyful periods of my life.

In the basement though, are the rooms I prefer not to visit but am drawn to from time to time; in much the same way that we press a bruise to see if the pain remains. These are the rooms that are not so well lit, for I would prefer that they were not part of my small palace. Unfortunately the choice is not always mine.

And sometimes during those darker periods of self doubt, I am taken there in my dreams to revisit the past and forced to review those actions best hidden from view. Although on occasion I glimpse just the smallest vestige of light appearing and understand the context in which these events unfolded. If I am fortunate enough there is a momentary flash of insight and the darkness starts to fade gradually, replaced with the comfort of understanding.

The flashes of insight are not as frequent as I would like and so I try as best I can to guard against the darker times. Sometimes I am successful. Other times…

Perhaps I need to review the composition of my modest palace and lift the mood a bit. Yes, perhaps I need to redecorate here and there. Be more prudent and selective in my choice of colours and lighten the place up a little. Put in a cheek dissection or two. Or some other anatomical curiosity.

It seems to have worked for the Doctor.

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