What if someone says,

“I am suffering from human body dysmorphia. I am not actually this human body thing which is only temporary anyway, and I feel trapped in it. I know I’m The Whole that for a limited time is pretending to be separate. I need to be fused, united and no longer concerned with keeping this separate animal thing going with its genetic setup forcing the need to survive on me. Then I will be happy, or not concerned about either happy or sad. Because these things are only in the realm of the plague of individualism.”

I’m half satirical here, because, well at age 71 and fearing poverty and physical decline ahead I actually this like this.

There is a terrific Lionel Shriver novel called Should We Stay or Should We Go in which she plays with some of these ideas of stopping instead of hanging on to the bitter end.

I babble about the novel here:

youtu.be/PlEVzMdAdvw