The word __onsciousness,_ it seems to me, can only refer to what one might define provisionally as __he knowing that cannot know itself without intermediary and that cannot function in experience (of which it is an indispensable component) except negatively.__o the question __hat is consciousness,_ then, a low level provisional answer might be __t is the pure subjective_ or __t is the bare knowing of what it is not that constitutes (orders) experience and allows it being._ It must be added that, when consciousness is, it seems to be individualized by what it knows. But on another (higher) level the __s_ in the question has still to be questioned, and so the low-level (and logical) answer is only a conventional makeshift, a conventional view, nothing more. And this qualification applies not only to logically inductive and deductive statements necessitating use of the word __s,_ but also to descriptive statements that appear in __ogical_ form, using that term, or any equivalent.
Suppose boredom is a backstairs to liberation _ insignificant, and so often overlooked. No one who has not known its higher degrees can claim to have lived. Not the Relative Boredom of long waiting at junctions for railway connections on the way to visit friends__r the rashly accepted week-end with acquaintances__he reviewing of a dull book. In such Relative Boredom the "wasting-of-time"-feeling only heightens the enjoyment of the coming escape, the anticipation of which sustains us meanwhile. Absolute Boredom is rather the pain of nausea, it is the loss of one's livelihood as for the pianist who loses his hands, the unsatiable desire for what we know makes us sick, it is the Great Drought, the "Carnal physic for the sick soul", the Dark Night of the Soul after the climbing of Mount Carmel, it is the pillar of salt, the exile from the land which is no more, the Sin against the Holy Ghost, the break-up of patterns, the horror that waits alone in the night, the entry into the desert where Death mocks by serving one one's daily food and one cannot bear hut to keep the darkness of one's own shadow before one for the very brightness of the light that reveals the universal emptiness. Do not try to turn back now _ here in the desert perhaps there are doors open__n the cool woods they are overgrown, and in the busy cities they have built over them.
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Suppose boredom is a backstairs to liberation _ insignificant, and so often overlooked. No one who has not known its higher degrees can claim to have lived. Not the Relative Boredom of long waiting at junctions for railway connections on the way to visit friends__r the rashly accepted week-end with acquaintances__he reviewing of a dull book. In such Relative Boredom the "wasting-of-time"-feeling only heightens the enjoyment of the coming escape, the anticipation of which sustains us meanwhile. Absolute Boredom is rather the pain of nausea, it is the loss of one's livelihood as for the pianist who loses his hands, the unsatiable desire for what we know makes us sick, it is the Great Drought, the "Carnal physic for the sick soul", the Dark Night of the Soul after the climbing of Mount Carmel, it is the pillar of salt, the exile from the land which is no more, the Sin against the Holy Ghost, the break-up of patterns, the horror that waits alone in the night, the entry into the desert where Death mocks by serving one one's daily food and one cannot bear hut to keep the darkness of one's own shadow before one for the very brightness of the light that reveals the universal emptiness. Do not try to turn back now _ here in the desert perhaps there are doors open__n the cool woods they are overgrown, and in the busy cities they have built over them.
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