When I was six, I dreamt that my father died in a lush, forest park.
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I am usually ill at ease and it is my practice to turn this into the intellectual problems of the world.
Because I am largely blind to my own moral failings, I perceive the world as being immensely injust.
I do, however, have some reason to believe in my own moral value and to resent certain aspects of society.
I wonder what death is, i.e. how consciousness might perceive it.
Is my consciousness separate from that of other people, even those whom I like?
My thoughts and feelings, but not my actions, support this idea.
I am quite afraid of dying but only a little of being dead.