Independence is way overrated. I once thought, Yeah, you come into the world with your mother, at least, but you die alone. Now, I’m not so sure. We pass carrying all of the lives we encounter in our lifetimes in our memories. Those who convey us there going on with their lives.
This seems to be the only true way to know yourself; to know others. We sometimes struggle in the exchange of the self to find, define, re-define who we are as if it, our self, was seeking stability. But, it is like breathing: in and out, start and stop, begin and end. What do we choose to do and what are we doing? Intention, reflex, memory. It’s like breathing.
We divide to rejoin or reassemble, not to destruct or deconstruct, for that is done only to make some other connection or union. And for that we need the other to allow The Idea, The Person, The Impulse, The Creation, to liberate into the world. Sui generiscollapses in on itself, asexual, boring, from nothing to nothing. How else did I come by language, the names of things, the impermanence we take for granted as solid ground? That which was taught us, that which we learned. You, my friend. You. One way or another.