We are not free until we are aware of ourselves acting automatically, until we see how patterned and predictable we are. This enacted automatism is like clanging around in a suit of armour.
We are confined, defined and encrusted by memory.
The more memories we have, the more conditioned, patterned and habitual we are. Yes, we need a few memories to provide us with a basic identity, but beyond that slight necessity accumulated memory serves no purpose.
Many of us are so weighted with memory, so neurally grooved, that we have become flesh-bots. Our next spontaneous act will be our first.
The more memory as man has, the more resentful and unforgiving he is.
What we do not remember, we will not repeat.
We die as we live. It cannot be otherwise.
Every loss, every mishap and diminishment, is a mini-death. How do we respond?
The way we do anything is the way we do everything.