The Greatest Treasure
For a while I turned up the volume, closed my eyes, and let the music flood my mind. As always, the sound brought with it a stream, a river, a voracious torrent of memories. Memories half-forgotten and vividly remembered, memories of happiness and of pain, memories of love and loss. Memories, rivers of life. Yet rivers never twice entered.
Music, always the trigger opening the gates of the past. Visions, sensations, fragrances, feelings, and thoughts weaved in sound. Never shall I listen to Apocalyptica and hear just the violoncello tones. Never shall I listen to Pink without feeling the emotions beyond every syllable. And never shall I listen to Imagine without dreaming dreams once dreamed.
No one can rob you of the past; the present is but a fleeting instant; and the future you do not have. Thus Marcus Aurelius speaks across millenia. I am starting to realize that memories are the greatest treasure one may have. Thus speaks my diary written years ago amidst the weaving of happy memories.
Music, always bringing up old truths and letting them be seen with new eyes. For no mind ever stands still, no mind returns to its memories where it left them. Memories grow and blossom. Some memories acquire their meaning only after they become memories. And seldom is that meaning final and unchallenged.
Every step taken is a step somewhere, every fall is an opportunity to start anew, every memory is a teacher.
I therefore called upon teachers and told them: “Do not fool yourselves. I have entrusted you the children of man not so that I may afterward weigh their knowledge, but so that I may rejoice at their ascent. I have no interest in a pupil that, carried in a litter, sees a thousand mountain summits and thus gazes on a thousand lands, because, first, he will not truly understand a single land, and second, even those thousand lands are but a speckle of dust in the immenseness of the world. He will interest me who trains his muscles when scaling a mountain, even if it be only one, because then he will be ready to understand all the other lands, even those thousand lands wrongly understood, and he will understand them better than the other one, the false scientist.”
— Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Citadel