My head is swimming with images. 

Waking up, I find myself on cold gallows between two hanged men who look at me with ghastly stares; looking around, I find myself warmed by the company of a band of gypsies and an array of others gathered around a fire telling stories.  I cringe as I catch a glimpse of a collection of a hundred volumes composed over a lifetime, destroyed by rats.  I find myself curious at the image of the young boy peeking lovingly through the trees at a young girl enrobed in precious stones; this image brings me to Cleopatra’s boat lined with mother-of-pearl, in which she will sail to Antony.  A dwarf with a wooden leg hobbles across my thoughts, bringing along with it images of the pranks played by the Gypsy Chief in his youth.  There was the time he dressed-up and took the place of the young Elvira who was soon to be wed to the viceroy; knowing all along the severity of the repercussions if he was found out.  Once out of this situation, he again dressed as a young woman in a black veil, intending to play with the mind of the young father Sanudo by confessing his love—all in hopes to catch him falling to sin.

And who can free themselves from the image and the itchy feeling of the mole-of-a-man, Busqueros, poking his nose into the everyday life of Lope Soarez and ruining any chance at his happiness with Ines.  And then, budging himself into the life of a silent ink maker to unite him with a verbose wax maker—which brings about the death of the helpless Senor Avadoro.  After which, Busqueros smoothes over the situation by marrying the widow.

I can’t free myself of these images and I really don’t want to, no matter how disturbing some of them may be.  Each beautiful image can only be so beautiful because of the images that stand in the shadows, those that haunt us; these dark images create a backdrop to make the light images so much brighter.   We know when we have heard or read a good story.  It is the one that appears in our minds as we stand in line to buy a coffee or falls into dinner table discussions with friends who have no clue what you are talking about.  Going against the “brany” grain of Steiner, Dr. Sexson hands us a good story; an enjoyable one full of images we can’t help, but recall.  A story that we really get—one that makes me feel like I am a kid at summer camp again.  Why were we given the privilege of the company of a great story for so many nights over the past few weeks? 

I remember the Geometer discussing his system and how he says that “the man who has seen the whole world through the eyes of travelers and has read about all the events of history really has an infinity of images in his head… and if he combines ideas, associates them and compares them, then this man really has knowledge and intellect” (426).  Dr. Sexson has been speaking to us about value of being able to memorize and orally pass on these memories—an art that is being lost.  Steiner has shared his thoughts on how “that which we know by heart will ripen and deploy within us,” as “the memorized text interacts with our temporal existence, modifying our experiences” (32).   For no one can “uproot the remembered poem” (32).

Maybe, we were in a way handed a great story to awaken within us childhood memories of being told a story before bed.  My mom wove for my brother and I the tale of Dawn Shabonn each night.  I remember Dawn’s house made out of one giant log and the children who snuck out of their house to visit her.  I remember how amazing I thought my mother was for creating each of these as I lay looking up at her.  These made up stories stand stronger in my mind than most real things that happened at that age.  

Was reading The Manuscript a way for us to recall what we as teachers and writers living at this time, don’t take time for? The Manuscript Found in Saragossa was a tale of tales remembered; a story beautifully choreographed by a man recalling tales of people recalling tales.  The band of travelers in the story don’t have books with them; all they can rely on are the stories that people provide.  And the stories that are provided are full of imagery that take people to other places and times that they would have never been otherwise.  Maybe Dr. Sexson wants us to ask ourselves, are we as teachers neglecting to take our students places through imagery we create?  Are we forgetting to create and tell stories?  Can we take notes from the Gypsy Chief, the Geometer and the Wandering Jew as to the pricelessness of our memory capabilities?  We as humans need images to be able to enhance our intellect.  We can provide images and enhance lives if we remember them and tell them to others.  And it seems that we remember best when we are told a good story like this one.