The world begins and ends in memory;
what I remember is what I am.
Did that blade of grass I plucked
as a boy to vibrate with my breath
really burst the air with shrillness?
A remembered world holds truth
and realities far clearer than echoes.
In the cupped hands of remembrance
the thin green reed of what we are
trembles with a sound so rare.
(Aide Memoire by Glen Sorestad from Leaving Holds Me Here: Selected Poems)
I came across this beautiful poem while riding TTC Public transport. A cultural initiative places such short verses on every TTC subway car, bus and streetcar in the city. It is a wonderful idea. Sometimes small things like that can have a profound effect on a reader.
... I would like to add to the poet that we are only alive until someone remembers us in this world. We are truly gone when the last vista about us fades away in a person's mind. On this account, being a writer, philosopher, thinker, inventor or any other kind of creative talent is a path to eternal life.