Naturally you are interested in all sorts of matters as they come to you in your place and time, and even though you spend most of your day pursuing one or another of these with varying degrees of interest, it seems vulgar to ascribe enduring importance to any of them. Which is as much as to say that the 'outer' life, or the thematic life, is something like a dream since its intrinsic implied values have no solid ground, are a chaos of differing motives which lead on from one another, criss-crossing and circling back on themselves to no final end. This is the realm of essences, of whatnesses. What you discover is that in itself it never could have gotten off the ground, is imaginary through and through, but that concealed within it is a wholly other kind of interest, the secret mainspring of the whole show. This is how being, or thatness, is uncovered, the interest without any essence and hence no interest at all in the usual sense. And so you yearn to shift all of this inquiring energy, all of this purposiveness around to the only goal for which the ground needs no further motive. But that is so much easier to conceive than to carry out; how can you want what has no form or image or nature, what can't be thought or imagined or personalised in any way? It would be absurd except that as you clear away the noise it gradually becomes clear that it is what you have been doing all along, that you've never done anything else, could never do anything else, but 'pursue' being - at least if being could be pursued. You need new words - not 'being', not 'pursue', but something else in a private language prior to all (public) language. The proof that there can be no private language is precisely why a private language is needed.