Things take time, and time takes things.
Our stories are forged by these opposing forces. Intimacy, wisdom, excellence, all take time. But reminders of mortality loom over the strides we make. Bodies criss-cross, voices recount myths of passing into ether between blinks. We lug unease within, a tussle of grit and gratification at every turn.
It is the tacit ritual of living.
I like to think of rituals as neat circles. Circumscribed hollows, cradles of certainty. Circles can cycle or circles can churn. Sleep slipknots two ends of a day, while washing up only begets more dirty dishes. Nature wraps us in seamless rituals of her own. A sun that arcs underground and over horizons. Rivulets that pool at our feet before puffing into clouds. Menstruation too is the circling wrist of time: blots of blood designed to stain us into being.
Then comes another, quieter grief. The sting of forgetting, little by little, the subtleties we gathered in a bouquet after they left. Shades we had missed in their technicolor presence. We nurse this specter until it has a life of its own. It runs amok, delicate against the elements of time. So we lock, chain, and weigh it down with more sandbags of memory.
Bits keep escaping nonetheless.
Memories, on the other hand, are weak lines that fog at a distance. Echos of erosive winds. Of rock chiseled into grain. Of shores wiped clean. We travel through lush forests of forgetting everyday.
In grief, we reach for memory lines and bend them into circles. Inventing rituals to circumvent forests and orbit erasure. We hold objects touched by loved ones to our chest, inhale their lingering scent. Prolonging, encircling, wishing a vortex to the past.
Pain invades and we immediately look for a gash. There is no discernable rupture through which the physicality of a loved one could have escaped. Things move on in high definition, forcing us in an inward curl. We lie unblemished, yet wounded. Longing for a brush of their skin, the vigour in their eyes, or a tremble of laughter. We mourn in practiced gestures and silent eulogies. Tracing circles again and again.
In time, the specter is no more and the circles get smaller and smaller. They close up into dots. Our rituals tighten into scattered points of a lasting presence. We live among a sprinkle that reminds us of them – heirlooms, trinkets, notes. Mute memorials.
Such objects have always intrigued me. They outscale their function and outpace lifetimes. They are bathed in ritual, but somehow remain casual. Parked on console tables, on shelves, in boxes. Charged with sentiment. Souvenirs of the senseless hand of the sublime.
Nothing can replace a missed presence, but there are many phases of absence to shelter us. The ones we’ve lost move in the precise geometry of a world they cannot return to.
SHAPING GRIEF is written by Prachi Khandekar, curator of @the.enigma.of.objects.
The Enigma of Objects is an instagram exhibition that crowdsources stories about prized objects and their significance. Responses to her open call often come from grievers. She continues to reflect on and explore qualities of objects that transcend their utility.
我們的故事是由這些對立的力量塑造的。親密、智慧和卓 越，都需要時間。但是，在我們取得的進展中，對死亡的提 醒始終隱約可見。身體縱橫交錯，聲音講述著在眨眼之間進 入蒼穹的神話。我們拉扯著內心深處的不安，每一個轉折處 都充滿了勇氣和滿足感。這是了然於心的生活儀式。
我喜歡把儀式想像成整齊的圓圈。被限制的空洞，確 定性的開始。圓圈可以循環或攪動。睡覺是一天的開
始和結束。洗碗只會帶來更多髒盤子。大自然將我們 包裹在她自己的無縫儀式中。太陽在地下和地平線上 形成弧線。小溪在我們腳下匯合，然後噴入雲中。月 經也是時間的關節：點點血液將我們染色、成形。
在悲傷中，我們傾向記憶並將它彎曲成圓圈。發明儀式以迴避失去。
我們將親人觸摸過的物品放在胸前，吸入他們揮之不去的氣味。延 長，環繞，希望能有一個漩渦能帶我們回到過去。
然後是另一種更安靜的悲傷。遺忘給予的 刺痛，一點一點地，我們在他們離開後在 花束中培養的細微情愫。我們錯過了他們 曾經的彩色存在中的陰影。我們維護著這 悲傷中生出的幽靈，直到它擁有自己的生 命。它肆虐地奔跑，微妙地抗議時間的元 素。所以我們用更多的記憶沙袋來鎖定、 鎖鍊和權衡它。儘管如此，它的點點仍然 在逃逸。
疼痛襲來，我們立即尋找傷口。沒有任何明顯的裂痕 可以讓所愛之人的肉體逃脫出來。事物繼續清晰地發 展，迫使我們向內捲曲。我們無瑕疵地躺著，卻受傷 了。渴望他們的肌膚，他們眼中的活力，或顫抖的笑 聲。我們以熟練的姿勢和無聲的悼詞哀悼。一次又一
次地追踪勾勒出的圓圈。
隨著時間的流逝，幽靈不再存在，圓圈越來越小。它們閉合 成點。我們的儀式收緊為持久存在的分散點。我們的生活裡 仍舊充滿著讓我們想起他們的物件——傳家寶、小飾品、筆 記。靜止的紀念。
這樣的物件總是讓我很感興 趣。它們超出了它們本身的 功能與使用壽命。他們沐浴 在儀式中，但保持著一種隨 意感。在桌子上，架子上， 盒子裡。充滿著情感。絕妙 的紀念品。
沒有什麼可以代替錯過 的存在，但有許多階段 的缺席可以在其中尋求 庇護。我們失去的在他 們無法返回的世界的精 確幾何中移動。
巴基·坎德卡（Prachi Khandekar) 策劃了@the.enigma.of.objects。這是一 個公開召集有關珍貴物件及其意義的故事的 Instagram 展覽。投稿的通常是 因失去而悲痛的人。她持續反思和探索超越其效用的物品的特質。
另一方面，記憶在遠處 薄弱而模糊。侵蝕風的 迴聲。鑿成穀物的岩 石。海岸被擦得乾乾淨 淨。我們必須每天穿越 茂密的遺忘森林。
事物需要時間發生，時間也會帶走事物。