How do I deal with my own insignificance? That is the human question. We are all insignificant. Merleau Ponty and Kierkegaard surmise that we only know our own subjectivity. My grief, as MP says, is known only by myself - others see only how I display it. That's how I remember Phenomenology of Perception phrasing it. Just the fact that I exist in myself and grapple with this evolutionary singularity of human consciousness. We have an odd consciousness. I don't doubt that other primates and animals and plants have some kind of consciousness. There's is not expressed in organizing societies along lines of production and building on the past. Not that we can notice. Or that they display it to us. If someone proves me wrong - good for you.
I live in the least layer of life. My ego wants to inflate beyond the bounds of space, and it experiences that frustration: the ego is a construction made for others and is impotent. This least layer is the rhizome: the connected meanderings of my life and its crossing the lives of others.
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