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Our consumerist and fast-paced society has spawned a whole generation of superficially-minded and ignorant individuals who are more than contented to live off processed and canned foods full of artificial colours, flavours, and preservatives. And the objectified validity of personal experience is almost always amplified when it harmoniously espouses and builds upon anecdotal evidence passed down from previous generations from our parents, our grandparents, our great-grandparents, and so forth.
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This theory is avidly supported by the philosophical musings of the perspicacious classical philosophers who have adamantly claimed that the best possible way to study the phenomenology of human experience is through personal experience. By looking inward, we juxtapose the physical and psychological foliated earth of which we are independently made against a consensual world in which we subjectively partake and have our being. In a sense, I was too outwardly focused to understand that some conundrums of life are rendered much more comprehensible and subject to decipherment when one bothers to look inward. I looked for eternity and bliss along with the splendour and density of pure gold in the emptiness of intergalactic space and sought imminent transmutation within the inert forces holding rocks, shingle, and the geological strata of the earth together. Many moons ago, I, too, was content in looking for universal panaceas and miraculous medicines likely to confer longevity in sensationalized medical articles about the latest therapeutic techniques available recombinant DNA research seeking to identify and expunge the ageing gene from the human genome and an armamentarium of ‘magic’ and ‘happy’ pills gone viral. Ironically, one can spend an entire life inveigled by dreary eyes and sightless slumber, ceaselessly hunting for ‘the medicine that hath more virtues then all the medicines of the earth’ without ever once being wantonly interrupted by the revelation that the answer to the mind-boggling paradox might be bequeathed by one’s own predecessors.