Being Forgotten

There is a wearying feeling that exists in all people, assuming one is remembered beyond their small circle of friends and family; "after I pass on, what will be my legacy?"

The vast majority of humans are never remembered in history. I mean, mathematically it would be well below 1%. They will be recalled some time after their demise by those closest to them, but fast forward a few generations, and they are never remembered. Children, parents, even grandparents are remembered, but few people get to meet their great grandparents, and even if they do, are seldom old enough to be able to remember them.

History is assigned to the Emperors, Kings, Queens, Politicians and Presidents, of every kind that run the gamut of mercy and malice. Famous artists too, along with philosophers, writers and poets are immortalized in the history books.

Yet the great mass of humanity becomes forgotten, leaving little to nothing behind except the memories that exist within the thoughts of those that fade out within a few generations.

Much of life consoles us from this cold vacant realization through various distractions until our lives our turned upside down once more when death takes another member of our friends or family. We're suddenly shocked into the terrifying remembrance that life is so fragile and fleeting.

In Ireland, like every other country in the world, you can visit graveyards where the chiselled names of the deceased have all but vanished from the slabs of limestone, a reminder that the centuries of wind, rain and harsh winters have all bit erased man's best efforts to keep memory alive.

Are we remembered by something more lasting, more celestial? Or are we solely at the mercy of physical world that must, by its nature, constantly recycle and cannibalize all living matter? I believe that beyond all of this decay, we are remembered. Somehow, and in some way. I can't prove it, and I daresay no one can, but I do hope so.

Nothing can be proved or disproved.

For that reason alone, assuming that we are remembered beyond the veil, not at the mercy of the fleeting and dying memories of humanity, but by a creator, I expect that true purpose, true living must be one filled with love and charity, however hard it might be to always maintain.

James