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The language we’ve inherited confuses (this). We say “my” body and “your” body and “his” body and “her” body, but it isn’t that way.
[...] This Cartesian “Me,” this autonomous little homunculus who sits behind our eyeballs looking out through them in order to pass judgment on the affairs of the world, is just completely ridiculous.
This self-appointed little editor of reality is just an impossible fiction that collapses the moment one examines it.
—Robert M. Pirsig
Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Ch. 15
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