The past

The accumulation of the past is an odd thing. In some it hangs around like a long shadow and in others it remains buried deep underground in a sealed box. Different living beings deal with it in different ways. The snake sheds its skin. The tree sheds its leaves. The people of Balochistan light candles and absolve themselves of it in the Hingol River. The Indians wash it away in the Ganges at Varanasi. I wonder, how do you cleanse yourself of it?