last entry

I am currently trying to divide my journal from the past year into sections:

+++

My mother gave birth to “me” out of nothingness. This act is not something to be judged by our tired categories of right or wrong, which we often use as idle amusement or to pass time in vain. I live to feel a separation between myself and the world, rather than being the world. Whether being born is a sin or a surplus - language cannot reach that place. Perhaps nothing can ever truly be grasped; we only come to realize that we cannot grasp it.  

It is a love rooted in the deepest part of being, a love of instinct, not one shaped by culture or civilization.

===

...