Reflection.
An apperception of what we are or, more correctly, grasping at those threads of the amalgamation we think we see and trying to reconcile them to what we think the world is like. Of course, what we think the world is must by necessity, in fact, be what the world is like, for if not how would we, mere creatures of flesh and blood and bone, come to know something other? Oh no, we do see the world, but it is unfortunately with a terribly poor sight…but I digress…
…Reflection, that most boring of verbs which conjures specters of philosophical babble and endless prattle, which would seem to lead us to the “night where all cows are black” to steal a phrase. To nothing. Of course this is an unfair and quite hasty thing to say, as our every thought is a reflection, a mediation of the aesthetic passing from the moment into time. Our mere awareness of our existence, our existential certainty, is but the mediation of the immediate present with time, of our enduring awareness…but these are things we should all realize if only we would…human experience is not the question…humanity is the question…
…but this is not coming to fruition…today I arrived at a conclusion, one that is a beginning again in it’s own right, about the nature of experience and the understanding…but this, I fear, is not the medium for developing it…