ecological half-thoughts on a Sunday evening

It's the same sea, but a different shore. A creaking timber trod on from an imperceptibly different angle. This business of accumulation, in what sense does it make sense - to a plant?

I feel so sure sometimes we are living in the last times, and in the next moment, I know this is foolery, that it's just me, an unseeded branch, coming towards the end of its tracery (its hearty seeking to be a branch just like the others, or yet, in its own idiom... and the tree will go on. There is no 'outside knowledge' , is that it, but glimmers of one's own ineptitude, one's unfecundity? Yet even a seedless branch, and one that is more or less done, carries within it, while it has life, something of the intention of the community, the mother tree. Thus we have self-knowledge cut off yet not fully detached from the social, which itself is knowledge without comprehension, like one of Luhmann's systems... And everything is a simplification, because there is no way of locating the true individual.

And thus return to envy (perhaps because inchoately he realises he must have some structure or lodestone) which is surely complicated at the very list by the recognition that - the first division always already having been made - there is perpetual doubt about the unitary and the unit. Envy reaches towards (thus never reaches) the mythical (unreachable) 'entirely other', the all-too-small-r-'real' others fail to satisfy it, even as envy... does Schoeck or anyone address this I wonder? - and thus envy (on it's own terms) is defeated, incomplete. This is a hopeful thought.