People live this way, you see. These lives are lived and lost. If there is a truth to be had it is taken away with them and there is only the casual shift of time. There are no measurements and no markings - there is a passing and that is all.
Who am I and what is my specificity? I melt away as a drop into an ocean of existence and I am forgotten. Everything that makes me is forgotten and my uniqueness is unrecognisable. Without my boundaries that can define me I am the I alone of existence and not a being in myself. Those boundaries are there because of a solitary I and when that I loses its meanings, those boundaries have no ground upon which to make their mark. They are wiped out.
Standing in their place is the endless sand of existence. Is that the truth? Is that my revelation? Everything that is it encompasses, it takes in and makes it it. Then there is nothing. Without it, there is nothing. With it there is only it.
Then this life is only it. Then this suffering and these specific problems are it. And I am it. Consumed already, because I am.
Then far away in the realm of inconsequentiality is my name and my judgments of myself. Far away in the distance. Those animals of the deep sea, those whales and those seals, they are far away too. That air and my dreams are far away. The beginning of this universe is far away. So removed and untrue, so infinite and corrupt. Existence must be finite. But then my whims are far away.