Two things are unassailably and irreconcilably true on such a day: perceived with clear eyes, with eyes naked of preconception, reality as a whole is immaculate, is perfect, is pure, that even though three stone-fenced fields away a fox is plundering a wren's nest and is ravenously killing and devouring the still bald chicks, they themselves, every time their mother returns with her mouth full of death, seeming to be little more than luridly shrieking voracities for insects and grubs.
To survive at all on such a day I'd have to forgo being a self: where normally I would say "I see," now in self-abeyance I would say "seeing is".
On such a day it is good to know and still better it is to act on the knowledge that the subjective-objective divide is a dispensable piece of mental machinery, the mechanism of our alienation, turning us into spectators.
-John Moriarty, A Hut at the Edge of the Village
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