This morning, in between moments of everyday reality, a simple smell blew the portal of yesteryear wide open. In my experience, the sense of smell can trigger inescapable memories forever etched on the shadow of the soul. Memories in the shape of a dream, or at least that's how they feel now; memories so surreal, it's hard to believe they ever were a reality. Yet the simple essence of a smell can rewind the mind to moments purged from memory with nothing more than a gently fragrant wind blowing in a fortunate direction.
Recently, smells have invoked images of times long since passed. Times of innocence and security, times when things were not quite so rushed for resolution and childhood was still noticeable in the rearview mirror. I am sure every one of us has moments like these when time seems to suggest the past is more comfortable than the present and its' sparkle rises from our memories like a Phoenix from the ashes.
The passing of time is indeed a strange bedfellow. I, for one, have never noticed the sweet simplicities of the present. I have, however, viewed the future with wistful abandon and relived the past with stories that evolve each time they are told; bigger and better tales of mythical magnitudes. I have held in my mind the idea of the present but never really reveled in it. Not really. There always seems to be something pushing us forward with a plausible end just on the tip of the horizon. Once we reach the horizon, another horizon leads us to another end just outside of our reach.
And as this cycle continues, the present is superseded by the future and out-shined by the past. In a moment, the present is the past. In an instant, the future is gone.
As I age, I have learned to relish feelings extolled by the senses; feelings that come from familiar smells, pleasant sounds, or reminiscent images. Feelings not necessarily tied to holidays or monumental occasions, but seasonal feelings, feelings derived by wind, strong storms, spring smells, or autumn foliage. It seems these senses summon certain places in time, places of youth, places of joy, places of recklessness, places that will never be again and at the same time, current places that I am unknowingly reserving for future meanderings.
As I made my way outside this morning, the aforementioned “portal bursting” smell was mostly of the rain. It was an earthy smell mixed in part with fallen leaves. It was the purest smell I have encountered in quite a while and immediately, I felt the whisper of the past. It happened so quickly that it is almost impossible to explain in prose, but in that instant I felt the coming autumn in all its glory. I felt football as a child, camping with dad, carving pumpkins with mom, family togetherness, and the intensity of true love. I was reminded of my first date with my wife and our courtship so vividly that I relived three months in three seconds. All these images were restored from the past with the simple smell of the rain.
As cycles of time frame the changing seasons, I hope to relish the present, embrace the past, and not wish away the future. That being said, if I fail, and I will, I can always open the door, breathe deep, and let the past stream in like a feather fluttering on the last gust of summer’s fleeting wind. Just a thought!
Recently, smells have invoked images of times long since passed. Times of innocence and security, times when things were not quite so rushed for resolution and childhood was still noticeable in the rearview mirror. I am sure every one of us has moments like these when time seems to suggest the past is more comfortable than the present and its' sparkle rises from our memories like a Phoenix from the ashes.
The passing of time is indeed a strange bedfellow. I, for one, have never noticed the sweet simplicities of the present. I have, however, viewed the future with wistful abandon and relived the past with stories that evolve each time they are told; bigger and better tales of mythical magnitudes. I have held in my mind the idea of the present but never really reveled in it. Not really. There always seems to be something pushing us forward with a plausible end just on the tip of the horizon. Once we reach the horizon, another horizon leads us to another end just outside of our reach.
And as this cycle continues, the present is superseded by the future and out-shined by the past. In a moment, the present is the past. In an instant, the future is gone.
As I age, I have learned to relish feelings extolled by the senses; feelings that come from familiar smells, pleasant sounds, or reminiscent images. Feelings not necessarily tied to holidays or monumental occasions, but seasonal feelings, feelings derived by wind, strong storms, spring smells, or autumn foliage. It seems these senses summon certain places in time, places of youth, places of joy, places of recklessness, places that will never be again and at the same time, current places that I am unknowingly reserving for future meanderings.
As I made my way outside this morning, the aforementioned “portal bursting” smell was mostly of the rain. It was an earthy smell mixed in part with fallen leaves. It was the purest smell I have encountered in quite a while and immediately, I felt the whisper of the past. It happened so quickly that it is almost impossible to explain in prose, but in that instant I felt the coming autumn in all its glory. I felt football as a child, camping with dad, carving pumpkins with mom, family togetherness, and the intensity of true love. I was reminded of my first date with my wife and our courtship so vividly that I relived three months in three seconds. All these images were restored from the past with the simple smell of the rain.
As cycles of time frame the changing seasons, I hope to relish the present, embrace the past, and not wish away the future. That being said, if I fail, and I will, I can always open the door, breathe deep, and let the past stream in like a feather fluttering on the last gust of summer’s fleeting wind. Just a thought!
2 comments:
Good post Grant. A smell that always invokes memories for me is when I begin cutting my grass in Spring. I recall the hayfields of my Grandmother's farm every time I smell this smell, and I too am transported back to a time when life was simpler, with its own particular joys and troubles. When I was a boy traversing those fields to the nearby fishing hole...when that smell laid like a familiar undertone beneath the smells of fireworks and a bonfire as cousins visited in July...
Scientists say we remember more through smell association than any other sense--seems like you're proving the point.
Greg
If I were asked to describe the most vivid sense, the one that conjured the past, I would probably say if was sight. But your right in that the sense of smell is the one sense that launches you into nostalia almost immediately. Sights and sounds change slightly over time but a smell with essentially no image or sound can only remind you of things directly linked to the smell and, for me, does so repeatedly.
Post a Comment