While looking for something, I frequently find something else. In trying to find some insight into how grief works, I found a wonderful description of a mind.
Five senses; an incurably abstract intellect; a haphazardly selective memory; a set of preconceptions and assumptions so numerous that I can never examine more than a minority of them — never become even conscious of them all. How much of total reality can such an apparatus let through?
C.S. Lewis was despairing about his capacity to understand his own grief.
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