In our now time,
we count not on
our brains
but on our electronics
In other places,
without written language,
life was dependent
on trusting our neurons.
This reliance was deposited
into ritual space made up
place, sticks, dance, stories
and the rhythm of the seasons
My way has been to hold on to books,
old t shirts, streets I have lived on,
as memory sticks to guide me
in this world.
Our machines are becoming
too complex to fix and
we are losing the ability
to heal the world
What will happen
when our memories are all
encoded in our devices
and the power goes out?
I love so much in this poem but this stanza was particularly perfect
“My way has been to hold on to books,
old t shirts, streets I have lived on,
as memory sticks to guide me
in this world.”