Addicted to circumstances. Rather die than change. Always. Doesn’t matter how many times you yourself have changed. Many times for the better. It must be resisted. What is it, “do not go gentle into that goodnight”? Every day I die a thousand deaths. Walking through the doors of experience, I am constantly tripping back and forth between inner and outer worlds. Coming back to myself, there is a necessary reconstitution. But surely enough, during every resuscitation of myself, something is always left behind and forgotten, some details addled, a colour changed here, a figure who didn’t exist prior there. My self has shifted. And gradually, over days, weeks, months, years, new phenomena, losses, gains…the self changes drastically. The me writing this sentence is slightly different than the one that started the paragraph, but the me writing the second half of this sentence is barely even the same person I was perhaps even a few months ago. The feeling of existing seems to change rapidly and one must always try to adjust and balance, or risk being extinguished. Perhaps if one could learn to sway, they might be able to get a glimpse over the edge.