There is no action that ends: A personal reflection

by Christine Packard

I used to believe that my actions ended when the moment passed. 

 If I spoke a harsh word, I assumed or hoped it dissolved into the air once silence returned. If I offered kindness, I imagined it complete when the smile faded. I lived as though my life were made of small, self-contained episodes—moments that arrived, unfolded, and disappeared behind me. Time, I thought, carried things away. Memory, I believed, was the only place where the past survived.