What, then, shall we do?

I've been reading the works of C.S. Lewis lately, and one of the most striking things I've come across is his illustration of the (Christian) idea that, in order for something to truly live, it must die first. Like an apple: It's good for one person only after it dies, but it can produce fruit for many people, if someone will plant its seeds. We all have many delicious memories-but we could only taste them after they were over, after the experience was dead. It's fine to enjoy these memories now, but we have to remember that they will not always satisfy us. There's a seed, or several seeds, somewhere in all of that fruit we're now enjoying-you know, those little hard, black points that you stumble over in the middle of what would otherwise have been a completely pleasant reminiscense? The key is that we don't just throw them away, or swallow them along with the fruit. (Is this metaphor a bit much for anyone? Don't think of it as a metaphor, it might help.) We have to sow them, we have to establish this good thing, to give it some permanance, or else it'll be nothing but a pleasant memory. Others worked hard to plant and nourish the seeds of our experience-we simply plucked the result of their labors, a far easier task. It's the least we can do to plant the seeds we now have, or will have, for others to enjoy. We can't all be factotum, but we can all do something to make sure such wonderful pleasures won't die with our fleeting memories and changing appetites.