We would rather die, than letting go of our mad stories

So true. All of our Nows are hijacked by our past. I am left bereft and floundering in the mud of what only seemed to happen.

Mirrors of Encounters

Everything starts anew. Every instant is unrepeatable:

Life is a story with no story…

But that is too challenging and daunting to admit.

So ultimately it´s all about our narratives prevailing over Life itself. It´s all about our memory versus the inscrutable mystery of living.

Ponder:

Memory is often the insufficiency of our experiences. Memory is thus eternally incomplete. Deficient. It always answers inadequately to the challenge of every moment. How can something deficient understand this very Now, which is incommensurable wonder?… It simply can´t. Subsequently, not being able to grasp this present moment correctly, memory´s constant answer to life is Failure….

How can we be anything than failure when our very identity is, and derives from memory?

To put it shortly, we would rather continue to successfully fail and have our identity unchanged, than assuming the risk of letting go of our subjective memory, apprehending Life in open and imponderable wonder…

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