The fact that the meaning of one’s life is occluded; the fact that it must be occluded, as part of the essence of mortality; the fact that one’s ignorance or partial knowledge is the force driving one onwards; the fact that even in one’s imagination no final reckoning can take place: all these are hard things to accept. Great anguish and bafflement.
And the beauty of the everyday world: innumerable and overwhelming. Why is this not mentioned more often? Debasement of hyperbole. We need universally accepted symbols for the inexpressibly distressing or beloved.