The Conscious Life
This is one of those spooky essays, where I am likely to scare someone. Namely myself. It’s me sitting up at midnight, pulling the covers up close to my neck, and pointing flashlight towards the closet. What was that? Maybe that’s all this is. Just fanciful, meditative, spurious, speculative spacing out. And then I have to wonder, why is it I am so ready to talk myself down from the ledge of a wonderful, magical universe when I should be diving in?
