Sometimes I have the feeling that what takes place is identical to what doesn't take place, what we dismiss or allow to slip by us is identical to what we accept and seize, what we experience identical to what we never try, and yet we spend our lives in a process of choosing and rejecting and selecting, in drawing a line to separate these identical things and make our story a unique story that we can remember and that can be recounted, either now or at the end of time, and thus be erased or swept away, the annulment of everything we are or do. We pour our intellegence and our feelings and our enthusiams into the task of discriminating between things that will all be made equal, if they haven't already been, and that is why we are so full of regrets and lost opportunitites, of confirmations and reaffirmations and opportunities grasped, then the truth is that nothing is affirmed and everything is in the process of being lost. There's no such thing as a whole or perhaps there never was anything. But it is also true that there is a time for everything and that it's all there, waiting for us to call it back...
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