It is when I grew conscious that I lost my innocence. The dao had forgotten me and I was now a separate being in the world, alone to bear my own shame. The guilt that came with being alive was intolerable, to have to ask for things for myself, to have needs and to tear the hair out of the earth or else die. I do not deserve this, I thought, I am unworthy of all things, to live, to die, to feel pain. This was my only purpose, to carry this burden with me, to not be good enough for my own suffering.

I dreamt sometimes of laying down in the mud, letting my pours absorb the dirt and take it into my body with all of its impurities, like a priest at confessional. I dreamt of sinking into it and watching it move over my face like giant eyelids and decomposing like a fallen fruit. I wondered if I could maintain consciousness while this was happening, or if it would dispense itself as if it was physical, each molecule of my body carrying my Self away, like little carrier ants.