There, we were, in the perfumed seal of choices


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Do you understand that literally everything you see, and will ever experience, is nature? All the music that you will ever hear. All the glass through which you will ever peer. All the fabric that you will ever wear. All the heights to which you will ever dare. All the cream and crystal floors. All the streets and lamps and stores. All the craft and kitchen cares. All the church and classroom chairs. All the ink and oil wells. All the pen and paper trails. Every sheet and rooftop shingle. Every lathe and concrete jungle. The moon and neon glows. The clouds and goose-down pillows. Every machine that will ever be. Every light beam that you will ever see. Do you really understand?

One of the important things to ask oneself in verifying the practical feasibility of any intellectual pursuit, is: whether the words (which are the mosaic of symbolic representations of actual experiences) can ever translate back into experience. That is, does the contour of thought possess the shimmering immediacy and saliency of conscious access to reality? Or does it merely interface in a transitory way, losing its origin in wholeness through its isolating and recursive act? It is for this reason that there exists a modern suspicion to the entire field of philosophy