And to ponder is to be grateful.
Kierkegaard understood this well, as written in his diary:
"...they never have felt nostalgia for something mysterious, for something far-away, never sensed the deeply rewarding feeling in being nothing at all, in strolling out of town by the North Gate with 4 pennies in one's pocket and carrying a slender bamboo cane..."
--July 14, 1837
But, how can one be so detached? Yet so thoughtful? Camus did this well. We can see death as the main theme of The Stranger. Nevertheless, Camus didn't walk down the path when he wrote about death. At least he was not in his last seconds before his death.
He can only imagine. As he suggests his readers on one of his essays.
How to free one's self from preconception?
On a person's house of language, how can one be freed from language?
