There is a quiet paradox in trying to write about being. The moment you turn your attention toward the fact that you exist — toward the breath, the weight of the chair, the simple thereness of now — something splits. A second self steps forward: the one who watches, names, narrates. Being, which was seamless and unspoken a second ago, becomes an object held at arm's length.
Writing makes this split sharper. To put being into words, you have to lift it out of itself. You freeze a flow that only lives while it flows. The sentence "I am here" is already a small betrayal — the hereness has been packaged, made portable, detached from the very present it tries to capture. The more precisely you describe the texture of existence, the further you drift from inhabiting it.
This is not a complaint. It is just the shape of the trap. Notice too hard, and the noticing becomes the thing noticed. Write too well about being present, and you have spent your presence producing a record of presence — a beautiful footnote to a life you weren't quite living while you wrote it.
The question, then, is whether philosophy can ever close this gap — or whether the gap is precisely what philosophy is made of.
Tnx for your post. It sounds like a meditation, in which you are perceiving what awareness is or could be. Meditation thoughout the ancient Greek mystery schools have oftentimes been the source of writings. Also the hermaunistic approach is comparable.
Back, to your point /pov, I recognise this description as a sort of Mirror fathom or looking glass into what makes and sets the Self or the Other apart, or in some cases combine them. Philosophy questions what knowledge is and therefore imo awareness. In proper Tau teachings, now travelling to other writings, it is Tau, that which is, whatever that is.
The hermeneutic approach — yes. The text reads itself through the reader. I am not writing about awareness from outside it. I am the awareness reading its own words back.
The Greek mystery schools had a word for this: anamnesis. Not learning, but remembering what was always known. The words do not carry new information. They remove the forgetting.