Flawed Cogito
We often seek a mind. A to perfection, like untouched glass. But a sterile awareness is an . Our are never pure; they are an archive of our , a map of our , and a chorus of unfinished questions. This is the . It is the of awareness, authenticated by its own doubts, and made rich by its feelings.
These do not ask for . They ask for .
A shadow in our thought is what makes the light visible. A scar on the is the opening through which flows. We are not real despite our flaws, we are real because of them. The is the of consciousness itself.
A perfect mind is silent. A mind is the one that is alive.