...and to lose that ancient fight – the willingness to suffer with oneself – is to hold death within the lungs and yet continue to breathe. But even this is a romance honed while we are awake and knowing nothing else; when pain burrows deep within the mind, it renders time obsolete, and like real death, denudes the very fabric of experience, as if to challenge Heraclitus with a deep and lasting darkness...
...we know not the mind; we call it home, anchored by our senses to incalculable strands of movement, sound – the likes of which dissolve into a stream of meaningful locutions, patterns, judgements. We call this home. We call this “I” this self, this we, this royal We; this pronoun engenders careful scrutiny of what we see and hear and come to believe to be outside our home...
...and to lose that ancient outside, from which each derives the willingness to suffer with oneself...
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