I love it when the days start getting longer.

The ‘self’ is too obviously a construct to be the ground I walk on. Since I experience myself as being, I imagine I am ‘pre-choate’ – I have a ‘pre-choate authenticity’ which seems to have a bit of temporal coherence. But really I know nothing about it.

How I receive it through the world is my constructed ‘self,’ which is ‘aware,’ but capricious and easily unplugged. Basically, everything that has ever been taught about the thing I am concerns this self’s struggles with its own authenticity.

The simple lessons emphasize ‘harmony’ with externalities. The contented self rarely asks difficult questions. With complexity, the rebalancing gets focused inward, until I live in a sort of ‘dream’ where all my externalities are simply personal experience, and ‘others’ exist only as I intend them to. Still, this is not authentic, and cannot rest.

The only satisfying rest I have known is in ‘loving,’ which has been fleeting because – I am told – I am unable to direct it toward my self.

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