This book, in another format, was given to me by very enlightened godmother, decades ago, probably around the time it was published in 1984. it looked mysterious, it looked precious. it was very different from any other cover I remember. It was a bit bigger than a normal book with a black cover and the title I think in gold lettering.
In philosophy, there is a view that memory is key to identity and identity is how me make sense of our lives. But I know now life isn't just memory. Enlightenment, in the Buddhist sense, doesn't seem to feature memory at all. It seems to be about a state of wider connection within the present moment.
Mum always lived, mostly in the preset that way. Now she does so all the more.
In the absence of a cure for diseases of the brain and the memory in particular, I wish society had processes in place so that immediately that becomes one's fate, one is given choices and the power to exercise them instead of just being left to rot and to be exploited by the "care" industry and unscrupulous, embezzling relatives. I don't think she knows how much has been taken from her and in his mind, that's all the justification he needs.
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