Everything changes - . Looks the same. Old things come back and I don’t know my own ignorance – at all. And keep tripping over it. The grass wires at each step snag my toes – a water of string – the proposition of knowing one’s ignorance is past grasping. Suppose a glass tank filled with water in which the unknown objects of life show up; consider: they are being presented by an invisible hand. This is the stuff that any object is in – and if it is just water it is in – then I can see this object; it is visible to me even if I don’t know what it is, even if its name or what it is for, is blank. But change the media, for it is not the same for an object in a tank filled with ink; for in this case all I can see is the ink. I have no idea what I am looking at – nothing translates. Call it a stone or a candle; it is all one. So that in such a case the circumstance by which a thing is known – an ignorance – excludes the rational mind as a matter of category; and so if that condition of ignorance operates as an invitation to act, it remains that the rational mind isn’t there. Similarly, whether I stay the same or change in shape, in age, in demeanour, in each case the difference isn’t obvious to me. Perhaps I have changed? Perhaps my shape has changed? My face? I feel like one of those bowling pins: solid but easily knocked over. Solid, white and made of an expensive material: an ignorant pin. If you had asked me my shape ten years ago, it would have been slice-of-cake. The thin end at the top. Something has changed. But I detect nothing actual. It all looks the same – me; the world. When I look in the mirror I tell myself (and I truly mean it too) I have always thus seemed. Not changed. There it is, it is the same face. Me. In the world. But still old things – .
“Angry – happy – I am what I am.” “Sad, cheerful - it’s me!”
