July 15, 2009
Palenque, Mexico
Elevation 80m
I joined a tour group today because it was easier and cheaper to get to some of the Mayan ruins (Yaxchilan and Bonampak) I wanted to see. The van picked me up at a quater pass six and we headed south east. I was awake to see the sunrise, then I nodded off from there on.
The driver likes to slow down to nearly a complete stop for each and every speed bump, but he would put pedal to the metal for all the in between. He would drive at full speed and pass all the other tour vans on the road. Is there a door prize for the group that gets there first? Do we each get a howler monkey?
I have seen a lot of ruins in my time and I am sure that I will see a lot more. Seeing these murals and carvings, reading what little Mayan history it be can gather from it, I wonder about our impulse to record. From the ancient murals to every tourist with their cameras (me included), me writing this blog, you and your journals, we compulsively record. Why are we compelled to document what we have done, who we have conquered, what we have seen, and what we have experienced?
Do we record these things so that they don’t fade away with time and the decay of our memory? Do we record so that we can ensure our version of the story gets told? Do we record cause we instinctively understand our mortality and want to leave something behind? Does our existence not matter unless it is documented somewhere?
If what you did with your life changed the world, but there will be no record of it, would that be ok? Or would you prefer to live a life that is well documented but didn’t matter in the slightest bit?
