(Auckland, New Zealand)
At one point, rummaging through my satchel (or man bag or murse) for something I forget what must have been something related to going out that night as I was amid my young roommates in Auckland perhaps my money clip, I happened across my wedding ring. What was it doing there? Even I had to ask. Well, one of my last days in Sydney was spent with Erika and among other rituals of closure we made a moment of returning our rings, a gesture symbolising our agreement to release the infused meaning and transform them back into ordinary objects. The whole journey of these rings, from joy through pain to reconciliation, has been an extraordinary and powerful story I will always cherish, one I hope to tell properly some day, and for me is the most salient argument for embracing symbols to mark these things that utterly transcend intellect, words, photographs, memory even. But I digress. I put it in my satchel and never decided what to do with it, and so it is with me.
I expressed my surprise, blushed and wondered aloud what I should do. Rick suggested, "Well you're in New Zealand; wouldn't it be funny if you went on the Lord Of The Rings tour and cast it into the fires of Mount Doom?"
And it was funny, and I know Erika, who has a great sense of humour, would also find it amusing. But, aside from it being far too nerdy a thing to actually do, it didn't quite fit, for as I said, the ring has already been unmade in the fires in which it was made.
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