fire and possessions

On what was barely a Thursday morning this past week, the car parked next to my best friend's car was set on fire, causing her car to burn to the ground in a melty, plastic-y, junkyard mess. Luckily Chanti had insurance, but whatever she had in her car was permanently lost--meaning her entire CD collection. This might not sound so bad, but it's just funny to think how much time, emotional meaning, and memory we invest in material things like that. I can easily understand the loss of music records being an ouch-y one--the act of hearing music itself is often so preoccupied with ideas of flowing emotion and connection. But she, my other best friend Victoria and I just sat there for a while last night contemplating an alternative state of mind that wasn't so focused on things as much as what/who those things represent. 

If you had five minutes to grab your most valuable possessions, what would you take?

I want to say I would focus on old family photos, pictures, and written journals that could never be replaced or printed from a computer. Yet I'm sure if I were asked that same question seriously, if I were put in that actual situation, my mind would break down and I would be amiss in retaining any sort of sense about what I'd take. Memory is such a faulty, self-serving thing--I think that pictures and journals would substantiate the truth that my mind might involuntarily try to erase.

We kept talking, and Chanti brought up a strong counterpoint: this losing of common things would not stifle your being, but in fact free you from paltry possessions. Imagine--not having to be concerned about losing anything, because you have nothing to lose anymore. It is pathetic, but you can't sink any lower...is that positive insight or is it just really sucky? Being over analytical and deeply sensitive when it comes to matters of the heart, I am always one to find the imagery, metaphor and ridiculously far-fetched representation in any material thing. Driving by my local park has done strange things to me in the past. My heart will fill up with blood or empty itself. These feelings are not dependent on the park's existence in the least--the park is a symbolical vessel for what happened there. The times when I was the lone car in the lot by the eerily lit basketball courts, or the times when I was accompanied, sitting under the shade of a big mother tree. I feel uncomfortable driving by a former friend's neighborhood, not because it is unsafe, but because our friendship no longer exists. What was once a second home has become a foreign, darkened recollection. These places will continue to exist, as I don't think anyone will try arson around here. So I guess I'll just have to let go, and burn the mental bridges behind me instead.