I’ve been thinking about memory.  That’s Mnemosyne’s area of responsibility.  My father is in hospital and when we visit, he is spending a lot of time with her.  Stories are told and re-told.  Stories of youth.  Of working days.  Of love.  Of betrayal.  It’s our stories that reveal what is important about us.

Mnemosyne saves the certain moments for us.  Why?  Do you sometimes savour a moment, specifically for the purpose of holding it?  Do you look at a gathering of loved ones, and feel yourself snapping a mental picture that you know will remain with you forever?  It becomes a picture that only you have.  It will alter, too.  You’ll colour it, crumple it, re-imagine it, until the image serves a purpose you want it for.

Is it a catalyst? A purpose?  A dream? An anchor?

Mnemosyne wraps us in the security of our past, and at her best she strengthens and guides us.

Memories can torture and claw though, as well.  They can hold us back in fear as much as push us forward.

We can mire in nostalgia and lose our present when Mnemosyne has too much power in our lives.