But gradually, as time goes on, even that will begin to divide. Your concept of self will become muddy, and you won't know yourself what memories are truly yours and what memories are false. There won't be any suffering to be certain of, and therefore no pleasure. Nothing will have value because nothing will have had work... You will be completely unattatched to all things, because they're just there... and what reason would you have to care? You can't think of a use for any of these things, and you can't think of a time where you've used any of them. You can't recall making them, and you don't know what could have made them either. These things are all just meaninglessly there, before your eyes. You are eternally present. Nothing means anything, because nothing has to mean anything. Meaning is a means to an end that you've already achieved.