These vast empty monuments sacred only to what has been forgotten

Doing a lot of memory practice.

Remembering dreams is becoming a vital component.

Such a huge part of our imaginative world - critical to memory formation and function - that it seems I forget my dreams at my own peril.

Slowly getting better.

But it seems as if I only remember the most fragmentary insignificant aspects of my dreams.

Always the last few minutes of a huge complicated drama.

As if I had performed the entirety of Hamlet, living each emotion and painful moment in the dream and then,  at the very end, a dog barks and I wake up. When I try to remember what happened it is only that there was something amazing and beautiful and then a dog barked.

Frustrating.

I've become hyper aware of memory lapses and moments of forgetting.

The occasional and, I suspect, utterly normal, lapses and absent minded moments send me into Woody Allen-esque fits of more intense memorization.

It is exactly analogous to building a huge Cathedral to compensate for doubts about the existence of a god. There! See! Now could I have built that enormous structure if I lacked faith?

Or, if my memory was faulty?

These vast empty monuments sacred only to what has been forgotten.