"All consciousness is consciousness of something."
Sartre pushed it: sealing yourself into a shuttered room doesn't preserve you, it erases you. There's no cozy interior to retreat to. Being out on the road is the thing we are.
A bookshelf without books is still a bookshelf. A mind without thought is not a mind.
Perhaps we dream in order to keep existing overnight. Or at least not to lose our mind.
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