Consciousness of self was an inherent function of matter once it was organized as life, and if that function was enhanced it turned against the organism that bore it, strove to fathom and explain the very phenomenon that produced it, a hope-filled and hopeless striving of life to comprehend itself, as if nature were rummaging to find itself in itself - ultimately to no avail, since nature cannot be reduced to comprehension, nor in the end can life listen to itself.
Have you ever been at sea in a dense fog when it seemed as if a tangible white darkness shut you in and the great ship tense and anxious groped her way toward the shore with plummet and sounding-line and you waited with beating heart for something to happen? I was like that ship before my education began only I was without compass or sounding line and no way of knowing how near the harbor was. "Light! Give me light!" was the wordless cry of my soul and rhe light of love shone on me in that very hour.
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Have you ever been at sea in a dense fog when it seemed as if a tangible white darkness shut you in and the great ship tense and anxious groped her way toward the shore with plummet and sounding-line and you waited with beating heart for something to happen? I was like that ship before my education began only I was without compass or sounding line and no way of knowing how near the harbor was. "Light! Give me light!" was the wordless cry of my soul and rhe light of love shone on me in that very hour.
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that's exactly the good thing about the Injun life--you don't have to stop and think about whether or not you're 'happy'--which in my opinionis a highly overrated human condition invented by white folks