Closing Eyes to Reality, Memories Keep Watch
Created at: August 10, 2025
You can close your eyes to reality but not to memories. — Pablo Neruda
Neruda’s Warning About Afterimages
To begin, Neruda’s line separates sensation from its residue: you can avert your gaze from what is happening, yet the mind’s afterimages insist on returning. His own memoir, Confieso que he vivido (1974), suggests that memory is the ink that refuses to dry; people and places continue writing themselves inside us even when we look away. This distinction between fleeting reality and durable recollection sets a tone of responsibility. If memories persist, then ignoring events does not absolve us; it only delays the reckoning. With that in mind, we can ask how the brain makes certain moments unclosable.
How Memory Outlasts Perception
From a cognitive standpoint, the hippocampus knits experiences into episodic memory, while the amygdala tags emotional salience. Strong affect amplifies consolidation, which is why Brown and Kulik (1977) documented “flashbulb memories” for shocking events, and why scents can trigger vivid recall—the so-called Proust effect evoked by In Search of Lost Time (1913–27). Consequently, even when perception ceases—eyes shut, scene gone—the neural trace remains accessible, ready to reignite. Yet, when those traces grow intrusive rather than instructive, a different problem emerges: remembering without consent.
When Remembering Becomes Involuntary
In cases of trauma, the past erupts into the present as unwanted images, sensations, and dreams. Bessel van der Kolk’s The Body Keeps the Score (2014) shows how hyperarousal and fragmented memory can trap survivors in recurrent loops. Simply “closing one’s eyes” is futile; the brain rehearses what it could not resolve. Therapeutic approaches leverage reconsolidation—altering a memory as it is re-stored. Exposure-based therapies and EMDR, first reported by Francine Shapiro (1989), help pair recall with safety, reducing its sting. This pursuit of integration on the personal level parallels collective efforts to face shared histories.
Collective Memory and Moral Witness
At the societal scale, memory resists denial just as stubbornly. Primo Levi’s If This Is a Man (1947) insists that testimony counteracts erasure, while South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (1996–1998) framed public hearings as a way to transform pain into record. Likewise, Argentina’s Nunca Más report (1984) cataloged abuses so they could not be wished away. Thus, communities learn what individuals do: looking away breeds repetition. Still, our era presents a paradoxical twist—digital systems now remember almost everything, whether we want them to or not.
Digital Echoes and the Right to Forget
In the networked world, caches, mirrors, and archives preserve traces long after deletion. The Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine (since 2001) and search engine indices render forgetting difficult, prompting legal remedies like Article 17 of the EU’s GDPR (2018), the “right to be forgotten.” Yet technical memory is neither wise nor merciful; it stores without context. Therefore, the central human task shifts from suppressing remembrance to curating it—deciding what to carry forward and how to frame it. That brings us back to the personal art of living with what will not go away.
Integration Over Erasure
Practically, integrating memory means transforming raw recollection into narrative and purpose. Dan McAdams’s The Stories We Live By (1993) argues that coherent life stories convert past pain into guidance, a process supported by journaling, ritual, and therapy. Exposure and EMDR can soften fear; meaning-making can reassign significance. In that spirit, Neruda often turned remembrance into lyric—love, exile, and sea coalescing into forms he could address. By giving memories a place rather than a veto, we honor their persistence without surrendering to it. Eyes may close, but when memory keeps watch, we can choose to see with intention.