She liked to be alone in rooms, at night, and go through her collection of remembrances. It was especially nice if there was an open window and outside it was mildly warm, not too warm, and a breeze that brought the particular smells of early spring or mid-summer, or late summer, or autumn nights in to her. That definintely made her remember things more vividly. And there is always so much to remember. She could spend hours remembering all those past experiences in those spaces, those places, the way it felt, the smells, the sounds, the flavors, the moods, the atmospheres. And it made her feel somehow more sure, more certain that she was really, actually alive. Strange that she could feel vitally alive when sitting still, thinking. But the richness of her memories was a proof of her living body's capacity to sense, and perceive, and be impressed, affected by all the different things in the world around her. Her powerfully vivid memory was evidence of her direct exposure to and entanglement with all that composes the world: other creatures, landscapes, buildings, rooms, the weather, light, color, sound, texture, art, events, encounters... She experienced it, it affected her, and the experiences accumulated, adhered within her. And the more time she spent here, alive, the deeper and more complex this store of sensory and emotional experiences became and the more alive she felt. She was not weighed down by her memories—her memories tied her closer and closer to the world, they made her more and more a part of the world.
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