THE FUTILITY OF MEMORY...

We think in myths. Myths about ourselves, untruths, stories we tell ourselves that explain our feelings, our behaviour. Old photos contradict our versions of events. Letters we have written, the contents of which we now deny, are stained and shabby, evidence that we were once different people. There is nothing but now. Yet there are other worlds. Dreams that are like us, but not quite us. These dreams, these memories, tell us something, but what? We may interpret them to our convenience but they are not the truth and we know it. We know the truth about ourselves but fail to believe it. We would rather dwell in the dreams than live in the reality.