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The paradox of remembrance

Our abil­i­ty to remem­ber is an oppor­tu­ni­ty to recon­nect with the essen­tial and, in the process, forces us to clean the room of our mem­o­ries of dusty emo­tions that make age us badly.

Rit­u­als, pho­tographs, encoun­ters exist not to freeze us in time, but to remind us to live, to start again and to con­tin­ue the jour­ney. There are many dis­cov­er­ies, not all of them worth return­ing to the thresh­old of con­scious­ness, but from this, only the con­stant mir­ror of time can help us to dri­ve them out of our vision.

It is a para­dox­i­cal phe­nom­e­non to have to reflect on the past to be able to move away from it. And nowa­days, the task is Dan­tean, ill-equipped to pro­tect us from mis­sile infor­ma­tion, which a horde of ordi­nary dic­ta­tors are try­ing to bom­bard us with.

No won­der we tire of under­stand­ing, that we become deaf, that we get tired of the most obvi­ous, that we only wake up for shad­ows that have been revis­it­ed many times.

Don’t for­get that you for­get. Relive to die bet­ter, hap­py to know how to tell sto­ries, the emo­tion fatal­ly attract­ed by the hon­ey of the amaz­ing mem­o­ry that gov­erns us.

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