We seem to construct ourselves around our memories

We seem to construct ourselves around our memories; those things that stick in the mind and constantly remind us who we are and where we came from and how long we’ve been here. If you took me out into the desert for forty days and forty nights I think I would be a bit disconnected because I wouldn’t have been constructing memories during that time. I would only have been experiencing memory and for forty days and nights it would have been those memories that held me together. How can you have a memory of having a memory? It’s absurd. That’s what!

‘Oh! I had such a good time, sitting there doing nothing but thinking. Oh but I will remember those remembered memories forever.’

It is the experience that is remembered and once you’ve put your feet up in retirement, you might as well pull the plug and let the water out, for all the good your life is to be.

Having realised the strength of that ripe old banana I stripped my life of its barnacles and established momentum toward an adrenalin and action-packed world. I was enjoying the heaped metaphors and rudely constructed sentence that was to govern the rest of my life.

I’ll walk where my own nature would be guiding; it vexes me to choose another guide.

So Charlotte Bronte bragged once during her restricted life in literature. My own nature, be buggered! We all are dissolved in the humanity brew. Our imagination is to conquer and to escape the cauldron, to be independent of the stew, to head off in another direction, to escape the dreadful sameness of humanity. So dear Charlotte escaped via her pen and paper and that imagination that guided her away from the mundane.