Human reality is coextensive with the world, it is multifarious like a troubled sea teeming with strange life, but all of it, down to the most contemptible filigree is only this human reality, everywhere and in each and every instance, is this arising of consciousness, absolute particularity, banging its fist on the table. The current is too strong, too wild for the vehicle, consciousness overloads us, frays the circuits. Human reality is the striving to take on the shape of consciousness, which is as much as to say that it is contraction, its blinding its suppression, and the failing to achieve anything. Human reality is the ranting child, being schooled, unable to learn the first thing. You know it here as the ineluctable modality of presence and you strain to raise your mind to its wavelength, but in just the same way it is the continuous breath of desire, of wishing, that pushes and pulls at your tired body, the very mind and heart of desire.