Every rule you obey is borrowed memory, the past commanding the present, and the mind loves it because a rule spares you the trouble of being awake. Follow ten commandments perfectly and you remain mechanical, a machine running old instructions, congratulating itself on precision while nobody is home behind the performance.
The dying spoken of here is the ego's, that false center which needed law the way a beggar needs a certificate. When watching replaces thinking, right action arises the way fragrance arises from a flower, without consultation, without a code, because awareness cannot be cruel and does not need to be told so. Then goodness is a celebration rather than an obedience, and the letter is not broken but simply outgrown.