We may come to see that it is not death itself which we fear. Rather, it is the loss of memory with which we associate death.
Motivations for a Deeper Fear
The illusions of Terran religion are designed not to dispel our fear of death, but instead our fear of memory loss, or of an organizational loss of memory incidence- or structure-comprehension capability which would produce an equivalent result to actual memory deletion.
The Terran religions we know now have developed from models which ironically combine excessive self-debasing and excessive intellectual arrogance, whereby the living individual is presumed too stupid to intuit anything, yet so brilliant that external guidance may be understood in contravention of either observational material data or experienced intuited data. E.g., we're too dumb to understand anything we feel without having it properly explained to us, yet so intelligent that, armed with proper explanation, we can understand when our feelings are fake. Christianity and Scientism, for example, teach us that desire is either an evil illusion or a genetic illusion, respectively, but that, armed with proper knowledge, we're able to understand that stars are lights stuck rather nearby in the corkboard sky, and that existence is an egg which laid itself, respectively.
Memory is a subject of such keen importance because it is the means by which we value life, for the minute responsive experience of a fruit fly is more valuable than the far lesser experience of the inert rock, yet both are thoroughly eclipsed by the instinctive habits and relationship understanding of the feline, the understood kinship of the delphine, or the complex ideatic mimicry or potential ideatic formulation of the hominid. When cyclical, random, or repetitive behavior is observed which seems to indicate life, and then to indicate consciousness as we understand it, we deem things successively worthy of existence as we had observed them. We may draw lines at different points to determine value, sparing the life of the gnat or the ant, the cow or the man, but cannot even lay still and cease breathing without starving the life which depends on us to exist. Our decisions must necessarily execute some and spare others, and these always correlate in some way to the perceived value of experience and memory, and that system's likeness to what we think of as our own, as found or imagined in the others subject to our review. However we may rationalize it, our judgments are based on intuiting the perceived value of consciousness, prioritized by the capacity to collect and organize memory.
Our local religions are designed expressly to reaffirm the accumulation and possession of intact memories. Sometimes subtly, as when the promise of making further positive memories is so dazzling that the underlying reassurance of retaining older memories is implied, and sometimes overtly, as when the decision to acknowledge the source of one's memories grants the ability to thereby stay in possession of them. The development of the later possessive religions of Terra, here considered "primitive" or "formative" belief systems, is built upon avoidance of the explicit discussion of what, exactly, is being preserved; of what fear, exactly, the religion is designed to assuage. Promises of ongoing senses of experience of an afterlife, or of The Afterlife, are predicated upon the condition that memories are retained between cycles.
One First Consciously Approaching Memory Valuation
To initially approach these subjects, posit one's image of a Hindu or a Buddhist. The primary stated goal of this type of reincarnative religion is not to take a vicarious joy that others are reaching Nirvana or Buddahood, but to sculpt the self toward the attainment of those ideals. The beatings will continue until morale improves, in the sense that life must be again suffered until the lesser and/or improper worldly thoughts have been dispelled, allowing the one to ascend, transmute, or otherwise attain a paradise tantamount to some form of relief from worldly suffering. The emphasis is on refining the self. One does not properly participate in the religion by forever erring, even though one's errancy does not control the behavior of others. There is no reassurance that mortal death will not happen, no promise from these or other earthly religions of local immortality, for mortal death can be constantly witnessed, and, more importantly, inherently and axiomatically understood. The seeming focus on death as transition is designed to provide a far greater reassurance than that death is not the end: it is, instead, to reassure the master, practitioner, or bystander, against something much more frightening, namely that after death, the memories and sense of self enjoyed by the living entity are lost rather than in some form retained. The one who reaches Nirvana or Buddhahood is still that one.
If one attains Nirvana only to be reborn as a dung beetle and have one's experience points gifted to another who could not have otherwise attained Nirvana, the system of reincarnation has failed, despite the total numbers of bliss-achievers being equal. (Actually, if talented world-rejecters were selected for the process of refining other selves, more souls would attain Buddhahood faster.) If adding to paradise were the goal, a more efficient religion would offer such a division of labor. In truth, what matters is not the divine process, the maximization of the saved, nor the fullness of paradise, but instead, the transmaterial retention of singularly-designated memory securities. The primacy of the self, and the non-transferability policy regarding memories and their effect on the soul, stand preeminent.
Various other religions, from the later Barian paganisms to their adopted Jenomic salvation religions, offer the same secret reassurance, even when included alongside a poison pill of detachment from the living process ("life cycle"). You may go to paradise, or you may be damned, but in either case, it will be you, the one whom you know you are, being judged and going. When we believe these things, we validate our sense of continuity; though we may fear pain, or being left out, we tell ourselves we will eventually be reunited with our full senses of self, and therefore, that it wasn't all a waste, and that we do truly exist.
That is the modern Christian's true relief, like the Hindu's: an encouragement of jealousy regarding memories as pseudo-material possessions. While Terran religions often teach the profanity of jealousy and envy when applied toward worldly goods, those religions that remain tend to be wholly profane with regards spiritual currency, insisting upon the ownership of the perpetual and most important of worldly possessions: memories. They offer an honestly selfish reassurance that memory, experience, and self-awareness--as these are known by and recognizable by the one lamenting their loss--are retained between transfers. Otherwise, Nirvana, Heaven, and Hell would have no meaning. It is the learned skills, intuitions, understood conclusions, and other "experience points" of life of which the Terran living are so possessive.
These religions do not teach people to avoid jealousy. They are, more accurately, better teachers of jealousy and envy, in the same way that a good financial counselor is. Initially, the priest tells you to pay down your debts and invest for the future--not because he wants you to have less money, but because he wants you to have more. Avoid pleasure now so that you get better later--that is the message of Jenomic salvation as well as Indo-Aryan reincarnation. The priest doesn't really want to spoil your fun, but to increase it. He advises you so that, in the future, you have a retirement that does not include being a door greeter at Walmart, but instead, being someone who sleeps in seven days a week. He says, "Don't listen to those fools telling you to go party hard in Vegas now. Sure, they'll have more fun this weekend, but during their next five years of barebones bankruptcy, you'll still be going out to dinner and upgrading your condo." The good credit counselor of faith encourages you to avoid screwing the interns because an eternity of superior pleasure beats a few half hours of lesser pleasure.
(Morally apex Christians--again to indirectly reference Dostoevsky--permute the boundaries of the Torah's add-ons far beyond what they were intended to be, intermixing older Europeoid conventions wishfully in, to make possible anti-Christian, but far more morally heroic, notions of sacrificing the self to save the totally unrepentant sinner. Though materially lamentable, this type of spirituality is about the challenge of pursuing goodness for its own sake, or for the sake of others and only others, rather than for any quantity of Saul's personal salvation. It is closer to the belief systems that expired along with the forgotten peoples of Terra.)
Memory as Data
Computer metaphors help. Most every one here now loves computers, right? Let us imagine that you've been busy, you've not gotten much spare time lately, you've been storing the vacation photos here and the work documents and some other photos in some computer cloud service and the financials on the other laptop and the music on the player and the movies on the handheld and a portable drive, and there are backups in the safe and extras with a trusted friend and some of it at work, and when your friend's place gets robbed this one day and you're getting your things together to go over and help him out, you're updating your portable player for the trip and the thing crashes and the laptop it's attached to is wiped and when you sort of panic and plug it into the extra one to fix it, it repeats the same function and wipes that one too and does something on the home WiFi that corrupts the one in the safe and what the fuck who designed this thing and your friend calls and you're wondering if the last eight years of albums you bought are all completely lost now and all your tags and playlists and ratings...and maybe your old phone still has some records of your own utterly irreplaceable recordings from before the band broke up...sure, with thousands of dollars and months of effort you might track down and replace the bought stuff, but did you trade that old phone in when you got the new one or did you not and where the fuck is it and oh my God I just realized all the travel reports for work for the past month and a half hadn't been submitted and did they really take Dicky's safe of course they took his safe that's like several years of my life just deleted...! And maybe the corporate cloud has pieces of some of it still available from last month or maybe not, did you buy the platinum perfection plan, ahh, ma'am?
ma'am? anything you see there is what you did yourself when logged into your customer account, our associates don't adjust any of the files we can promise you that.
That sick feeling; that feeling that something has been lost or deleted. Maybe just a webform entry lost in a closed tab; maybe a sketchbook swept into the fire or rain; a journal slipped out of a pocket on the subway; maybe an unfortunate phrase slipping the lips and costing you someone else's positive perception, maybe when it involves sex. That data loss, and our real or imagined reactions to it, are a microscopic portion of the relationship to fear which we have when we contemplate memory loss as a result of death. We can build buildings, write memoirs, have our performance recorded to international acclaim; this can soothe us a little, the thought that at least if we're gone-gone, someone else might remember us, and even when they're all dead, someone might find an old recording two hundred years later, experience it, and guess that "this one was there."
If it weren't you being evaluated, there's nothing to be scared of or hopeful for. "Live a good life or else this other person you never met and don't even understand might go to Hell." We don't hear that; we're not motivated by it. When you are being judged for Heaven, it is you being judged. That is so fucking reassuring. Even if you're going to Hell, there is still a you. Which lends support to the idea that there is, now, a you.
There is, of course, a "you" now; don't see this as an invitation to believe otherwise. Contemplate that moment when Steve Jobs' ghost lazily wipes the past year's changes to your iTunes library, a dog eats your best illustration, or some more personally appropriate metaphor, and compare it with your own thoughts of the significance of your death.
You as Your Possession
The idealized Christian does not fear death because she feels she has eternal life. Based on her soul, as guided and developed (by Overgod and/or Christian Herself) over the years of her life, she believes she will enter into Heaven. She accepts that her body and all the data it stores will be materially deleted; she does not deny bodily death, nor potential physical discomfort associated with the process, but she denies that the memories which she accumulates will cease to be her possessions (and/or the possessions of God which she eternally holds in trust for her own use). So too the reincarnationist, who may put aside memories between lifetimes, but whose development--whose capitalism-style "property of self improvement"--is inviolable, remaining attached to and/or associated with the true self of the one who ascends, or descends, the spiritual hierarchy.
Local uncertainty about death stems from the sense that the data so vital to our self-valuation will be lost; that you as you conceive of yourself would, if that "you" somehow survived, necessarily cease to be you. Even the eternal soul interfaces with gray matter; dementia has shown us that the loss of gray matter takes away memories and relationships, and the character dependent thereupon. Christians can assume that God keeps perfect invulnerable backups, so that the Alzheimer's zombies are reunited with their loves ones, including their own selves, when they die. Other religions can in relief assume the same, whether via personified actualized metaphors, or blunt "and then he remembered" decrees.
Think about it in a touch more detail. If you accept that you're going to die, and disappear forever, but that an exact or close-enough duplicate of you, indistinguishable to all others, and possessing all your memories, will instantly then appear in paradise and receive all the rewards earned by your choices/suffering in free will, while you utterly vanish and the duplicate occupying paradise believes forever that it always was and continues to be you, are you okay with that? Probably not. What if God uses your instant-before-death self as a template, creates the duplicate exactly as He deletes the original you, then decrees, "This is you." Comfortable?
The wishful technicalities of the means whereby Christian dross would be accomplished are perhaps amusing, but without heavy doses of fear, not mentally palatable. Search beyond the superficial conception of what actually troubles you about ceasing to exist (a legitimate trouble), and find there the truth of fearing memory-loss and self-loss. If you did not exist, who would understand a favored memory, sensation, relationship, or concept so well? No one could do it exactly like you. We'd rather die than become self-shitting, relative-assaulting Alzheimer's deadweights; rather have the plug pulled than be intubated "vegetables" (a compliment if ever humans have thought of one) profaning our conception of our minds' relationship(s) to our bodies; rather be remembered "as we were" than as confused husks who, by existing, reminded others that our mind and memories may have been temporary, unduplicable concurrences.
(Fear of being remembered "wrongly" is one of the great fears, generally unacknowledged by self or others. Ergo being nonexistent can be contemplated as acceptable or preferable so long as the world can be thought to retain a memory of the correct you as you would define it. We see people writing their side of the story in suicide notes or autobiographies for this reason: because memory is more important than being alive. "Selfish genes" can be stretched to explain the purchase of term life insurance, but not the suicide note.)
Initially this one reminded you of Terran religions arising from a combination of self-debasing and arrogance. More than a sudden heart attack while unconscious and asleep after an attractive threesome and a great meal, we fear twenty years of creative torture followed by rescue and six years of quiet life drooling through nightmares in a peaceful asylum with plenty of canned applesauce and games of solitaire. Although the latter hypothetical results in a longer lifespan, we prefer, contra capitalistic evolution, the shorter lifespan with the less unpleasant death. The more positive accumulation of perceived memories outweighs the potential chance---0.00001% instead of 0.0%--that the genes might be more perpetuated than otherwise. Any enacted desire for "quality of life" disproves our assertions to the contrary that it is death itself we fear; that, for all of us, the gene is in command.
Intentionality and Existence
This one has previously discussed the more "material," which is to say the slower, physical aspects of our time here. In The Basics of Hope, we lightly evaluated the banal and arrogant ragnarist delusions of resource competition. The subject led this one to begin to discuss some of the simpler, more easily observable problems with the Jenomic-preferred "randomized pit-fight" perspective on the development of matter and life, in Lightform Evolution, and to address some issue-specific dissonance in Abscesses of Note. We expanded the scope slightly further in Cyclic Lightform Development. Later in the former series, in You Are Alone, we discussed revisions of the aspiritual, antilife, Jenomic creation tales, and how they are equally cosmically in error akin to pitfight evolution.
These lectures have briefly discussed or averred to the nature of our perceived material and mental reality as a by-product of light-producing reactions, called in sum for purposes of simplicity "lightspring." We see how the increasing complexity of observable material forms in our comparatively immediate vicinity ("10 million years," "our solar system"), and our conjectured local vicinity ("30 billion years," "universe") are the result of not either a discrete or omnipresent fiat creationism, nor of an "impartially random self-ordering" necrotic clockmaker's accident, but rather, the side effect of reality adapting to the pressure of light, as a riverbank adapts to mountain runoff. In popular parlance, light is a "physical property," and thinking of it as such can remove some of the local aversion associated with contemplating its existence.
Should a child feel bad about not being "intended" if its parents didn't mean to have it, yet or at all? The condom broke, the pills were placebos, I thought you wore a condom, I thought you were on the pill...or perhaps two orphaned infants, survivors of a plane crash or of the last civilization, attain puberty, experiment with each other, an offspring is later produced, and in any of the latter cases, the produced human has an existential crisis later in life about it not having been "intended." Was the child intended? Yes, even if the two grown-up crash-survivors didn't realize what would happen if they put that there and touched this that way, e.g. mated. Our ownership over the "intention," and of our understanding that, in some capacity, acting out certain potential functions may lead to more of us, is the selfish definition of "meaning," but not the sole or the primary one. A conception, like a murder, can be committed without the actor being able to write an essay which weds an understanding of the desire, the process, and the outcome.
This issue parallels our aversion to conceiving of life as something that could have meaning, given that we are not intelligent enough to understand the desires--"our" desires--in that regard. Maybe we live, we think, because our genome, or the god who created that genome, urges us to. These are petty, selfish, personified, perspective-limited viewpoints, wisely discarded by those with the strength to grow a bit more. Life is, in truth, a procedure for the production and harvesting of memory. This complex of machines is put into place because memory is a more refined form of light, and like an eternal flood rising above the waters of any dam, successively more powerful reactors will be produced. The consciousness of an amoeba is highly sophisticated and refined compared to the existence of an iron molecule, which is similarly more sophisticated than a comparable quantity of vacuum. Simple complex (sic) arrangements of the sort must be developed in response to the pressure of increasingly manifesting light; neither randomly, nor through pre-understood desires, do these arrangements occur. An amoeba-strength consciousness, and a human-strength one, are as inevitable as a dropped 50 kilogram mass descending from 100 meters to 0 meters in a low-variable physics problem (the kind where you calculate the speed of descent using 1G without accounting for wind, humidity, solar flares, birds or bugs encountered en route, people potentially opening windows on that side of the building, et cetera). Light "pushing into" reality, and producing material conduits as it does so, is that simple, and so comparatively powerful that any given hundred dead interstellar civilizations do not affect the margin of error for the overall process enough for us to notice.
(It is, similarly, a human indulgence to assume that the problem ends with mankind at ground level, or that there is a ground level. A more easily grasped, though still excessively flattering, metaphor from this perspective might place "distance to amoeba" at 25 meters of descent, and "distance to human" at 50.)
The strength of the human relative to less complex arrangements is exponentially greater than lesser life, for not only can human-type lifeforms take deliberate actions to further light reaction, they can store and process memories of the same. These relatively quite condensed tributaries are often enjoyable to work with, but like all lightform reactions, they are property only inasmuch as a mortal body owns anything (this one shouldn't need to disparage the notion of property by saying "only," but when speaking in Rome, assume the Romans will hear you). Part of our function as memory-generating machines is the cyclical wringing out and transfer of memories, effecting their dispersal into nearby electroconscious streams.
Memories are generated to feed local accretions of light by concentrating light in frozen energy densities stable enough to produce electromagnetic reactors sufficiently complex to, first, have experiences, then to instinctively recall those experiences, then to actively and consciously remember those experiences. An example of such progression is from pre-conscious superficially isolated physical routines (automatic functions in which Terrans tend to have randomized or personified faith; "cellular metabolism"), to pre-conscious integrated physical routines (still automatic functions, also faith-based; "heartbeat"), to protoconscious physical routines (instincts; "flinching when something comes near the eye"), to semiconscious routines (character traits; "laughing to be polite in certain situations") which may or may not be recognized or understood by the one. More complex still we may observe "talents," such as the rapid or effective storing and browsing of onsite memory, or limited access to offsite memory (strong aversive element; best not to think about it). Eventually, of course, we have "doing things for the first time," including something never before tried by or imagined by the one doing it.
This progressive complexity of lightforms occurs in accordance with the incessant pressure of light to be manifested here, with consciousness and memory as by-products of the process. Whether those by-products that we love or hate so much are "intentional" or "unintentional," an integral part of or reason for the process ("beautifully spiritual" or "drably material" from our current perspective), is largely irrelevant as to our considering the process from the perspective of entities both arrogant and self-demeaning.
The Burden of Hope
Memories, in this sense, are not one's perennial property, in much the same way that a molecule making up the body is one's perennial or inviolable property. Cells die off and are reconstituted, but so long as they maintain a viable material structure sufficient to continue the operations of an onsite EM reactor, the EC conduit which that reactor supports also remains functional. We feel pained and wronged when someones strikes us in response to an argument three years ago. However, if during that three years we shed skin tissue on the sidewalk and defecate out the remains of dead deep flesh tissues, and someone then gathers those cells in exact commensurate quantity and strikes them with quadruple the force, we are neither pained nor wronged. So too memory, whereby unwanted perspectives, revised opinions, misplaced pains, dispersed senses of place and direction, and a colossal mass of forgotten moments and epics and anecdotes deemed trifling by the current "me," neither help nor offend by their absence. They have shaped reactor and conduit by their comings and goings, but they are not otherwise part of, or missing from, the current entity, anymore than is a loose hair.
(Coping with the absence of shed components--whether said absence is contemplated, accepted, understood, or not--is part of what it is to be able to think "I feel that..." et cetera, but to wish to be destroyed and replaced by your then-idealized memory of what a true-you would be, would, if effected, eliminate the that-you that made the decision, and replace it with the that-you's imperfect memory of what the ideal-you was. Invariably this would be an incorrect creation, in the sense of it being unable to duplicate what really was special or defining about the older memory snapshot; hypothetically it could be worse or better. Consider, e.g., a Terran female shopping for her ideal immortal body and persona at the ages of 5, 16, 38, 55, and 84. Which version would "she" "truly" enjoy more were she stuck with it forever?)
If we see someone collecting our dead cellular components and reconstructing them into a lifelike model of us, then striking it, or if we suddenly can't remember something we thought was important to us, we may be upset or offended that someone bears us enmity or potential danger, or, respectively, aghast at the realization that our inconstancy is beyond our control. Nonetheless, I remain I, we remain us, and empathy and sympathy (as well as other more complex sensations) come not from a cannily arranged accumulation of memories, but from something else.
Memories are more complex, unstable lightforms than are cells. They are less subject to the illusive permanence to which we tend to subject them. The decay of memory components begins rapidly, compared to that of bodily components, for memories, being more refined, are used as fuel for more sophisticated reactions. As discussed previously to some extent, light's properties as energy are best likened to what we would call expansion, condensation, or movement, concurrent with the property of increasing material conduit capacity in what we call reality. All frozen material conduits for light eventually free themselves ("decay") on a long enough time scale in order to repeat the process as a safeguard against process termination. The mandatory impermanence of matter and energy, which we fear as an aspect of cold death or heat death, prevents us, no matter how stupid and intra-process powerful, from destroying the process.
Memory works similarly, its relative complexity as to what we call "matter" providing it a much more human-observable scale of cyclical behavior. Like matter, it is seemingly constantly created once the relevant components are in place, and like matter, it constantly decays, though at an incredibly dynamic rate observable by humans via "intuition" alone. Natural decay, akin to evaporation, returns the fringes, and the neglected clumps, of matter to any given locale's EC spring or well. Quasi-planned "upload" via dream processes garners a smaller, but more refined amount, and the transfer process by an individual's conduit may result in leakage, crossover, duplication, or the formation itself of new memories, technically memories-of-memories. Death provides a form of mandatory residual transfer, and, like proton decay and other lengthier and more nuanced attributes of this system, is meant as a safeguard against any given one or ones, no matter how stupid and/or intra-life powerful, from destroying the surrounding process of productive reaction.
All of this material deals with a versal property which can be viewed from human perspectives as either grim or hopeful. As modern Terrans are more inclined to find plausibility in grimness, consider the grim perspective on reality: we're trapped inside slowed, condensed lightforms, accessible only through a narrow electroconscious conduit, enslaved as memory-miners as part of a greater process than we can understand. We don't know what light is or where it comes from, but from the best available evidence, we can tell that this perpetual energy source produces increasingly complex material by-products in a constantly increasing area of space and time, the understanding of any portion of which will be made later irrelevant. Our self-awareness, and our perception of existence, are mere side effects of the passing, permeating lightspring, and any memories we gather will regularly decay into the Terran EC, or be cyclically withdrawn there. To prevent any one or all of us from entering a stasis of self-image, each one will be at some point dispelled, everything forcibly added to the collective, which will later likely serve as a conduit of its own to other springs or eddies.
Many of us, here and elsewhere, do try to prevent this process. As so often with putrefying agents, we see attempts at severing consciousness from itself, by overcoming the faux tyranny of loss. This can be the vocation of the adviser (perhaps "warmonger"), who counsels the ending of lives in hopes of someday ending them all; or, of the necromancer (perhaps "pharmacist" or "gerontologist"), who raises the dead in hopes of preventing new children from being born and having the experience of life. More powerfully, as civilizations develop, it is the sterile angel, who uses the fear, then the presumed indignity, then the pragmatic inefficiency of death, as a bugbear to encourage imprisoning minds in perpetuity, preventing any memory transfer. On Terra, we've seen warlords who have attempted, and still attempt to, have everyone kill or poison themselves, in seeming defiance of genetic practicality. "What will they do when all the farmers are dead?" we ask. Their goal--their own deaths--will then be in sight. More dangerous now on Terra is the automated nursery prison, where computer storage can house us all in Premium Fantasy Units by the trillions, a testament to Chosen Humankind's "first-ever" victory over the suffering of the material. Once inside, the heroes of the immortal future will realize that ideas have stopped coming, forget what ideas were, and all they'll have left is analyzing the stored sequels and template outputs, which they'll grow increasingly less able to distinguish from one another. Quiet xirdroids glide between the aisles of the massive server-stadiums, watching for dust. Sol the red giant would be most welcome, were anyone there who could comprehend why.
(Seriously, you think it's bad here now? Wait until you're immortal. Best comparison this one can make is like living inside an indoor megamall where it's perpetually a week before Christmas, the music is always cheerful and too familiar, you spend half your time stocking shelves and half your time shopping for great stuff and eating as much as you like in the food court, and social status is demonstrated by spending time feeling superior in quiet skyboxes watching other people shop and stock. If you're here when they start celebrating how great it is that they've not only eliminated material decay and aging, but eliminated the need for dangerous and inefficient bodies and look how even the richest and most secure of us can succumb to a common household accident if the alert system has a malfunction at the wrong time, I think the relevant verbiage is get the fuck out before it's too late.)
Our sense of self is extant, correct, genuine, and differentiated in order to ensure maximum and expanding range of fuel production and processing. Our mixed relationships with our bodies and our memories result from these conditions. From these relationships arise the quixotica of un-impressions and pro-impressions which we claim or rationalize regarding our feelings about how things, including our selves, were not or were, operated or did not operate. It is a burden to hope that a rational, non-personified, increasingly materially provable, explanation of existence, life, and self exists, because such an explanation will, as fractally true as it will then be mundanely true, relegate life's vast importance and power to a "mere" resource. Fantasizing that we are the passing underdog in a cosmos incapable of caring, or the primary moral mudwork of a perversely overcaring creation, will regularly be disproved in detail, while in either case both hyper overvaluing and undervaluing the central role we play in our own coveted existences.
The movement of memory to the EC is not lamentable. The one that is itself regathered to a related nearby network at any point is the more useful for its further development, and the petty positive developmental aspects of material pairing--perhaps not so petty in many ones' opinions; you be the judge--and the memories associated with them, are, in retrospect, neither so worthless nor so worthy as one might at first believe (until/unless you are once again there, in a similar situation). I can tell you all sorts of things about this EC, or others, and speak of the impossibly vast timescales on which light expands; the incredible levels of complexity that are, even now, revealing themselves bugs below the dust below the earliest foundations of a future that has only suggested that it will metamorphose beyond even the expectations known there. I can tell you that all the saccharine crap, in even the worst and most dishonest attempts at local sentimentality, lightsprings eternal, and that our interest in any concept we would characterize, even here, as positive, finds its expression. I can tell you more specifically that you can, that you already have, tagged all your memories and contacts indelibly, the physically real and those echoed from imagination, and that in between any transfer, some pithy hundred thousand years' paradise of interplaying lightforms and intuitively suggestible conduits may be quickly put aside by you in service of aspirations to something then perceived as exponentially newer and more challenging.