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Lance's avatar

You said something in that piece that stuck with me, hard: that some people mistake dirt for the lightbulb, and others dig so perfectly they still miss the flick. I’ve seen both. I watched a man meditate himself into total stillness—fasted for weeks, renounced everything, shaved his head—and still flinched every time someone touched his past. Enlightenment as armor. I’ve also known a woman who swore she found her lightbulb during a shrooms trip in a Motel 6—came back glowing, but couldn’t make eye contact with herself six months later.

Your metaphor landed because it wasn’t neat. You left the edges rough, like someone who’s touched bedrock and wasn’t sure whether to laugh or scream. The part that really hit? The choice to fill the hole back in. That’s not failure—it’s knowing too much. It’s the kind of clarity that says, ‘This light doesn’t need to stay on for me to see.’ I respect the hell out of that.

It reminded me of something weird: when I was nine, I dug a literal hole in our backyard for weeks. Said I was looking for treasure. My uncle asked what I’d do if I actually found it. I told him I’d probably bury it again, so no one else could mess it up. He laughed, but I wasn’t joking.

Reading your piece, I felt that same impulse. Like maybe we dig because the process gives shape to the parts of us we can’t language. And when the light hits? We cover it—not out of fear, but because we know what light does to people. Makes them worship. Makes them forget how to dig.

Anyway, just wanted to say—you’re one of the few people who makes philosophy feel like an act of rebellion again. And that matters more than most of us admit.

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BruxomLady's avatar

"All the effort was just to get to the point where you could see it."

To extend your metaphor, this makes me think of being a child or infant and how getting older is having dirt and rocks and boulders thrown at you. And people with difficult childhoods perhaps had more tricky or hard to deal with soil and boulders which is why it's also harder for them to shovel through it and access the child again (by which I mean a sort of blank slate-ness and an ability to just exist in the world with no dirt burdening you). But of course, we can't really get rid of all the dirt and exist because we are built by it, it's an essential part of having gone through life and had experiences. And as an adult you have so much the child doesn't: agency, independence, power. The price you pay for that is accumulating soil.

Loved this way of thinking about it!

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