There is a mad fragility to the human body. We are nothing but skin, fat, muscle and bone, wrapped around nerves that could snap, blood vessels that could burst, organs that can be punctured, bruised, torn. And yet we get out of our beds, leave the house, walk through this world filled with sharp objects, hard surfaces, wheely chairs (they've
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But from a philosophical perspective, isn't it odd that we wander around in all our fundamental vulnerability living like we aren't? I think that tendency of ours is neat, and strange, and sometimes scary and sometimes so incredibly powerfully divine that I need to completely skip out on studying and write about it.
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