Really, antique stores are the residue of bygone eras.
Bygone eras had people, and people had their stuff: Victrolas and hat pins and hand-bound books, now abandoned in corner shops, freely available to the highest bidder.
Years ago, people dressed by trend, brewed coffee at daybreak, worried about work, dreamed under the same moon.
Just like us.
These souvenirs from lights now extinguished always remind me of a divine purpose that is greater than my own life. To put it another way, I believe the story of this earth–in which I am one character–started with those who went before me, and it will continue to unfold long after I am gone.
I imagine the lives of those who crafted a now-tarnished spoon, designed a Model-T, or stitched the sole of a shoe, and I examine the things I create–both deliberately and recklessly–and wonder if they are worthy of that longstanding purpose.
Will the leftovers of my life stand like memorial stones, cairns commemorating revolutions, lives changed, breaches repaired? Or, like some dazzling aspirations of the American Dream, will I abandon them in their purposelessness, where they remain buried like ancient idols of clay?
Because of two insightful men and their cameras, I can show you this concept in the ruins of Detroit.
The Motor City was once known as the dazzling beacon of the American Dream. (The picture links to the album. Use the <> symbols to scroll.)
“Ruins are the visible symbols and landmarks of our societies and their changes, small pieces of history in suspension.” -Yves Marchand and Romain Meffre
What will our legacy look like in ruins?
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