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This question that preoccupied my father
and now preoccupies me - 'Do we really
need to heat the plates?' - poses the question:
which has the more reality? the person
(me and my father) or
the question? Are my father and myself simply
places where questions occur, as they might occur
anywhere else? our individuality being
a succession of occurrences? Oh, then
what do we have by way of
responsibility? yet another
question - this one truly
commonplace. As I eat this rather
disagreeable ratatouille I begin to wonder
what Heidegger means by
'being towards death'. Is it that I
only know I am something because
I die, thus ceasing to be
a place where thoughts, feelings, even
actions lodge themselves?
If I were to live forever I would have
no shape, not even
the beginning and end
of a river - the end of the river being
into the sea.
'The sea! the sea! the sea!"
Not the first time I've written that
but this time maybe it appears
differently. Appears as the nothing out of which
all those thoughts, feelings, actions,
rocks, trees, animals and stars
emerge, and back to which
they all return - 'eternal memory' - for after all
what is memory but
no thing? And what are we but
a home for everything?