If you recall past events what returns are the choices that were made, now to be seen against a more filled-in picture picture of the stakes. The shame that arises from these dubious realisations, dependent on unreliable, on compromised, memory, is entirely of the present; the choice belongs to timeless will as much in play now as at any time. You don't know the particular essence of will that shapes you, you can only bear to know it in brief profiles hedged around with rationalisations and sophisms. The prejudice of the present is that you can escape it by continuing to look forwards, but it is almost a relief to find that you haven't moved one inch from that first awakening of hunger and fear and the sacrifices you offered to old and sinister gods.