One of
the things that has caused me stress in recent years is the loss of short-term
memory power. Okay, that's old news for
many and just one of the mysteries of aging for a great number of others (is
there an echo in here?)
Trouble
is…
...No I
forget what the trouble is. That's
because there has been an increase in class attendances required this
week. [To fill the gap which just
appeared for you, Dear Reader, this intrepid spiritual adventurer decided at
the grand old age of 52 to take up formal studies yet again. This time on an ashram in India. Yes she did.
No doubt you'll be reading more about that. Repetition is one of the symptoms of
menosoup.]
I love
being here. I love what I am doing. But there are challenges, which of course
there must be. The greatest challenge,
however, has been the greatest stress; the
loss of short-term memory power.
Did I mention it? I'm not talking
about the occasional lapses. This is
large-framework, room-sized, RAM non-existence.
In the short-term. Try as hard as
I might it has become a near
impossibility to retain what was said to me five minutes ago. A significant part of daily practice in
Vedanta is acceptance, forbearance, forgiveness and silence in one's pain. Like Christ on the cross. That's fine with me. Not so fine with the sanskrit tutor.
Oh the
pain. The angst. I love language, but the fact that I have
trouble even with my mother tongue these days, what to expect in learning an
ancient code such as this?
The
peculiar thing was, although there had been lots of warning signs, it was the
rapid fall from the once-per-day lapse into a constant minute-by-minute 'where
am I' state which both puzzled and frightened the bejeebers out of me. By some grace of the Beloved, it was not
noticed by the general body of student-hood.
I was able to pick enough clues off the reflections of others to keep
the memory auditor at bay.
What kind
of hole was this I was digging? As a
certain date approached, the fuggy brain started to sort things out a bit. A blessing in respect to matters of body
management was that menosoup had apparently taken place exactly 12 months
prior. Good news. Bad news?
That six months leading into the anniversary created one part of my
being which separated itself from the rest of what was going on and built it's
own private hell.
{okay, I
could go back and edit that last sentence but it demonstrates menomonomumal
really well so you'll have to live with it.
You were warned.}
You
should not for one moment think that I gave up however. I can be like the dog which forgot where it
buried its bone. Whilst the search,
ultimately, may be fruitless, it continues long and hard. Whilst I remain
attentive in class and make all attempts at the homework, I have come to accept that I shall never be a
sanskrit scholar. Same is not true of
the core subject, I am relieved to report,
as much of the learning for it lies on preset understanding and
experience and things, on the whole, are going very well. But the days are long. Sleep is less. Young bodies are fighting fatigue therefore what to say of this one?
So when,
finally, it demands what it hasn't been getting and prevents one class
attendance, can I, the rider in this body, be blamed. No.
It's been menopuggled.
Can you drive a car without fuel?
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