(You think this book ought to be renamed "The Encyclopedia of Question Marks.")
O restless heart-what are you truly seeking?
What am I? Where did I come from? What purpose have I been given? When I die... will I really become an Engram? And what, truly, is an Engram?
Yes, the sacred texts offer answers. But when the fire of inquiry blazes within-can I really just accept those words and believe without doubt?
Tell me, dear reader-have you never heard a voice deep within, persistent and unrelenting, asking: "Is this world real?" "Can the answers in the old tomes be trusted?"
How can I ever truly believe that the knowledge I've learned belongs to me? Just because someone else speaks a truth-does that mean it must become my truth? When I speak, when I write-are the words I use really capable of capturing my innermost thoughts? But even before all that... Did my ideas, my knowledge, ever truly exist? I don't believe they did. Because thought, like water, flows and changes. So then, what in this world is constant? What remains, when all else drifts? If we are to search for all that remains unknown, shouldn't we begin by reasoning from the facts we do know?