Went to visit my rock today. They keep it pretty far away, and it's been 7 years. I worry it might have gotten lonely in all that time, but I guess it's not really my rock. There's just a piece of me in it.
I should back up a little. There's a movie called Everything is Illuminated. Like a lot of movies, I probably think it's better than it is because I saw it with someone I loved, and I'm more reminded of how I felt about life at the time than how the movie went. So it goes. Everything is Illuminated is not a happy movie, so it is odd to have happy memories of it. Oh, it has a ha-ha, "I feel like going to kill myself" sort of funny everywhere you look. But when you get to the end, if you're still happy, someone may well have broken your soul.
The lead character, Jonathan, collects bits of things in Ziploc baggies. He carries empty baggies with him for when they are needed, and when he comes home, he pins them with photos, labels, and all the other baggies. With these fragments, he recollects the history of his family.
A bit of sand in a bag doesn't mean anything. In a baggy, on a pin, attached to a corkboard filled with unfamiliar faces, it's just another tiny collection of trash, among many other similar items. What made these items have meaning was Jonathan and the little pieces of himself he put into them. Remnants of his memories would come back when he looked on these things later on, connecting the disparate thoughts, and providing a glimpse into how he thought in times long past. A sacrifice of his time and effort, dear things (for they never come back), so he can know his past. In the end, he comes upon another collector of these things. A terrible thing, to know what others tried so hard not to see anymore.
When I don't feel right, I go tire myself out. I got in a good habit for two months there, exhausting myself for about an hour a day. It was enough not to think at a time I was in a good position not to want to be thinking.
So tonight, I found my way up Mt. Zion. It took a lot of effort to get that rock up there the first time. Seemed a far faster climb done alone. No rock to carry. Though, this time, the gate was locked. Apparently, they know what people put into those rocks. I left with it things I didn't want to remember, tiny bits of torn khakis, and the exhaustion of not having run for a month followed by a late night uphill climb. From it, I took away a thought.
-baggie #1