What if you couldn’t remember who you were? What if your only memory was traumatic, brought to mind by a summer rain? Could you bridge the gap between what you think is real, and what is?
Would you want to?
I never thought I’d be homeless. Never thought I’d lose my memories. My wits, maybe, but not the familiarity of my own experiences and identity.
But did I lose them, really? Sometimes, in the stillness of the night, memories flit like clouds to the walls of my room at the shelter and beyond them, to the realm that everyone remembers, to the very thing we can’t touch or see. The fabric of the thing that defines us and calls up our very being. That thing we reach for with fragile fingertips when we’re just waking from dreams, like the pelican reaches for the water’s surface just before a splash.
Lacan is one of my favorite philosophers because even in his postmodern moment, he gestures toward what he termed as “the real,” known also to us as presence or absolute truth. Ultimately, he gives us no way of navigating the space between that truth and our current, fallen human position.
But I appreciate his honesty, because through it we can come to recognize the vital role of the Holy Spirit in our lives. God translates truth to our hearts in a language we otherwise could never understand, so that we come to know the fulfillment of our deepest desires, our deepest longings for that other world that, in the words of C.S. Lewis, we were made for.
Read The Purpose of Rain in SciendaQ Summer 2012: Amazon, B&N, Smashwords.