Tuesday, January 01, 2019

Spark of Life

Myself, at 16

Spark of life, the moment of being born alive. The journey begins, rarely straight; if and when, then by accident, always curving, crooked, backwards forwards. One goes through being human. Only some do so consciously, if they are curious.

Animals are automata. They exist, perish, without ever becoming aware of what humans name them; or even of their own signs or sounds, languages to which we are not privy unless trained.

Coming back to humans, they are a mixture of vanity, sense of inferiority, almost all of them not aware that pain and suffering, even happiness and joy, are figments of circumstantial situations and imagination ...

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