We’re blind moles. Creeping through the soil, feeling with our snoots. We know nothing. I perceived this… now I don’t know where to go. Screech with fear, only. Run away.
A weird time in which we are alive. We can travel anywhere we want, even to other planets. And for what? To sit day after day, declining in morale and hope. Falling into an interminable ennui. And meanwhile, the others are busy. They are not sitting helplessly waiting.
When I was a child I thought as a child. But now I have put away childish things. Now I must seek in other realms. I must keep after this object in new ways. I must be scientific.
What they do not comprehend is man’s helplessness. I am weak, small, of no consequence to the universe. It does not notice me; I live on unseen. But why is that bad? Isn’t it better that way? Whom the gods notice they destroy. Be small…and you will escape the jealousy of the great.
We really do see astigmatically, in fundamental sense: our space and our time creations of our own psyche, and when these momentarily falter — like acute disturbance of middle ear.
We do not have the ideal world, such as we would like, where morality is easy because cognition is easy. Where one can do right with no effort because he can detect the obvious.