The psychical is not a part of nature. It’s a phenomenon that is now here and not here. It cannot be measured nor does it own an essence. It lingers in the supersensible realm of the unknown and comes into play, reduces time, through a method of self-manipulation; a directness that covers it-self in the ego and proceeds to conquer, with masterful ability, the permeable and transitory sphere of the imagination. It harbors in a “truth of the untruth” and scours the desolate region of illusions while picking through scraps of the universal. Ultimately, through the onset of invisible forces which reach through the flesh, it mutates from a ghostly form balanced on the edge of a bottomless core, to a proprietor of death casting its shadow along the concrete shore and waiting for deliverance into life.
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