You cast yourself into time. Here this brightness is falling into the dark, is the very falling more brightly, more sadly, not faster but increasingly naked as the ballast is consumed. The desire to get the better of time was behind all of your strategies, you tried them all, consumed them. Knowing beforehand that they'd fail you bravely, foolishly seized each one as it came within your grasp, put all your faith in the venture, but the very attempt only drove each new ending. Repetition over novelty or the reverse, it works out the same way. The not-self that overcomes you is time, or say what you are has always been this attempt to borrow or beg a reality from what destroys you. It is a condition of experiencing, a way of realising it, this resolution of the field, a currency for the half-real observer who strives to exist by the possession of correlative moments, once and for all a matter beyond your hallucination.