The universe is crushing in its unfathomability. I look into my own eyes in the mirror, and all I can see is flesh and blood, nerves, neurons firing, making me think these thoughts. Within the confines of my skull, but in some respects reaching far beyond, is a universe of thoughts, memories, experiences, ideas. Almost infinite in size, much larger than I can ever hope to grasp, and every moment new thoughts spring forth, from this flesh and blood universe, this neuron fountain, or something else entirely, equally mind-boggling. The idea that the mind boggles itself seems superficially amusing, but deeply terrifying. To carry with you, at all times, the ability to confound yourself with debilitating wonder and confusion, triggered only by a stray thought, in turn triggered by some simple, random impulse that you have no hope of avoiding. One could spend eternities chasing oneself in circles inside one's own head. And then to think that as you see another person – an arbitrary passer-by, an old friend, the person you love – you see another whole universe. Another universe of thoughts and experiences and ideas, completely separate and different from your own, but equally near-infinite and baffling in its complexity. And then extrapolate further; that there are billions of people living on a floating rock in something that no-one fully understands but is understood as "the universe", the universe,  and that in each of the billions of heads, all of those you see, and know, and love, and all of those that you don't, there are other universes, equally giant in expanse, and perhaps even more complex than the one in which they all reside.

Strange then, to know all of this, yet look into one's eyes in the mirror and see only flesh and blood, and not finding the person. Wonder: If you performed every action with more force, opened every door, shook every hand, penetrated every piece of meat with your fork, spoke every word with more force – Would you be a different person? A more commanding person, perhaps? Would your behaviour dictate your thoughts and feelings, would it change the reflection in the mirror? Or would it be a simple charade, a mask, a temporary escape from the person you were doomed to be, inevitably crumbling, even if just in brief, private moments, leaving you to confront your true self at the bottom of the pit you have dug, desperately trying to claw your way back up the dirt walls to reach some state of control.

Crazy; to stare at the picture of  someone, a fellow human being, and enjoy its features to the point where you are desperate to see these features again, in real life, in flesh and blood – even if you just did so some hours ago – and convince yourself that these are thoughts, not instincts. One might begin to suspect that although it seemed a great gift and boon at first, this ability to manipulate yourself, to bypass or trivialize instincts, to think about yourself and others, is actually the greatest curse, and surely the eventual downfall of mankind while nature quietly grinds on.