In years gone by, I declared myself to have a proclivity to play the role of Observer rather than Experiencer, and focussed considerable energy on lamenting this regrettable state of affairs. The one consolation was that, as Observer, I could easily transition to Recorder, and make a detailed tabulation of every inclination and introspection substantive enough to survive transcription. The larger value of this exercise notwithstanding, at least there was something to show for all this Observing.

What does it mean, then, that now Recording requires an energy I simply do not possess? On occasion, I have pondered if it signifies a slip into a state of deep and perpetual ennui, if not worse. Well I wonder. Perhaps by treating events as just that, rather than Lessons, I inadvertently grow closer to being an actual Experiencer. Without the self getting in the way and muddying things, events can take their natural cosmic course and just happen. There is someone to greet them, of course; but does that someone really have to be me?

True enough, there is no longer a record of them, so it is not immediate to the external world that they (or anything else) transpired. This is by no means a great loss, but does make reminiscence more vulnerable to the vagaries of memory. The trick, then, is to be able to detach the Experiencing and Recording selves, to simultaneously be and not be in every moment of import. That seems a goal worthy of a lifetime of meditation, but, frankly, is a summit I doubt I shall master. More likely, I shall have to be content with these ghosts of memory, whose faint wisps come into view under very particular circumstances -- a lull in daily life, an external stimuli, and a familiar temporal landmark, amongst them. If their trails are soft, softer still are my attempts at preserving them; but, for now, let them be a reminder that there is still something beyond the quotidian demands, a quest that does not yield just because you do.