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But with the clear certitude of the self’s disappearance, there automatically arose the question of what had fallen away — what was the self? What, exactly had it been? Then too, there was the all-important question: what remained in its absence?
No man is a prophet in his own country. That line keeps running through my mind as I sit over lunch with my sister who I haven’t seen in several years. These days I’m the enlightened guy, but to her I’m just the bratty kid who couldn’t make eye contact when she wore a bikini.
