And surely we throw ourselves into erotic pleasures above all in order to remember them. So that their luminous points will connect our youth with our old age by means of a shining ribbon! So that they will preserve our memory in an eternal flame! And take it from me, my friend, only a word uttered at this most ordinary of moments is capable of illuminating it in such a way that it remains unforgettable.
-Milan Kundera

Desires. Eros. What of this? Can it truly be linked to memory? Can this primordial, insatiable force within really be a matter of remembrance? Yes, and we can see why when we realize how closely memory is linked to confession. Confession is the enacting of memory--its emptying out. Confession is like dumping out the piggy bank to see what and how much lays inside. Why? Why do we confess? Why do we remember? Why do we recount endlessly in our minds vacant theater the memories of our erotic pleasures--our most intimate encounters? Why do prophets and apostles speak in words about their intimate encounters with the Word?

It seems life is a matter of words. It seems life is a matter of perpetually remembering and hoping for encounters--for moments--seconds--when we will experience that which is beyond words. As it stands, we know any words we thus use to describe it--the erotic pleasure so strong, so deep, so forceful that it makes us convulse and shake in wordless pleasure--the revelation so clear, so powerful, that it causes us to convulse and shake in wordless prayer--will fail. Words never can describe that which is beyond words, nor can they reach the Word.

Life is thus frustratingly and paradoxically always a matter of more words--of spinning and freeing the words that stem from those deep, confessional, vulnerable encounters with someone, something beyond ourselves. If there are words, we are still here to hope. If there are words, we will always try to get to the place where they will no longer be necessary, and, above all, hope we can stay there forever.


They say for me that I'm a collector of women. In reality I'm far more a collector of words.
-Milan Kundera