There is a Darwish
poem
about a place
that becomes itself retrospectively, quietly
where its image, its likeness in memory
is stronger than the place itself.
Dialectics, maybe
a penchant for nostalgia
but then,
aren’t myths our interpretation of history?
Home isn’t a landline
the ocean wasn’t blue, a gist
is more than the sum of words.
I begin to wonder if the truth is ever
a visible, tangible
thing;
or perhaps, this is just a fool’s diary,
scribbles of thought
that the journey of memory is so devastating
it must have happened, sometime
in some place.
The-Bleu-Bivouac 
The natures of memory ~ and of reality itself ~ are proving by our new sciences to be much more malleable media than we have been suspecting here in the West. There are, however, still to be found in the more remote regions of India and Tibet those who still object to the making of a map, since they see it as tending to fix a location in the same place artificially ~ still those who see a filing system as but an impediment to leisurely familiarization with the whole…
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Hello! Very interesting comment, I’ve heard of those rejecting maps on the basis of Eurocentric scaling or the repercussions of drawing straight lines through complex tribal communities, but this is new. As much as manuscripts and legislation can alter public memory, retrospective interpretation can also catalyze many of its own issues.
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The true knowledge is always one mushroom away.
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