Consciousness knows and apprehends itself through events which it encounters. It turns along paths leading from a specific knowing to an abstract idea borne of the very same knowing. It flails in a mixture of reflection and reality. A reality formed by others who constantly redirect and re-apply themselves. Nature’s hunters. Their reflection appears, spontaneously, on the outskirts of the inside; the inside being each existential content of dramatic change. Each event reflects from itself and can never out-event its own event. Consciousness seems haunted by its own history, drifting within the tepid swamp of the past and emerging, eventually, in its own infinite circle. And the event, of which it immersed itself, lives on eternally.
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