It’s kind of like trying to imagine your own death. You can’t do it. No matter how many deaths you may have seen. Plants. Insects. Animals. Humans.
Even if you’ve witnessed the demise of other humans, you’ll be disarmed to try to imagine your own. You’ll suddenly find yourself out of imagination ammunition. You’ll be impeded by your subjective minutiae—every emotion, sensation, determination, and mental construct—we try to inject them in the scenario, ’til the scenario breaks down.
I call it Frog Sauce. Frog secretion is real enough. Its essence is to cause hallucinations in whatever animal comes in contact with it. It’s that natural defense that certain tree frogs have that coats their skin—and to which the frog itself is somehow immune. Lots of questions should immediately pop into your head. Does that happen for you? When I hear some cooly info about some living organism or scientific fact (and even “scientific facts” hee-hee-ha-ha-ho-ho…foo!), I suddenly have a head full of questions. The questions that come to my mind on this one:
Does the frog even know that he is a four-legged drug pusher?
Does the frog ever affect other frogs?
When the frogs are born, do they have this natural defense, or does the process take time? Are younger frogs more potent? Are older frogs impotent? Are pollywogs hyperactive?
Do any other self-destructive animals besides humans ever lick the frog on purpose?
Why do I trip about frogs when I only mean Frog Sauce metaphorically?
The “frog sauce” is not the defense, but the idea. That’s why it’s Frog Sauce. It’s all those things that we title and align and robustly define within our minds. It’s all those things so defined that they still elude us. We think we know so much about some distant thing, only to find we’ve been covered in it our whole life.
There’s a mathematical formula for Frog Sauce. It goes a little like this:
For every [ngleekh] there is an unequal, yet necessary [horkh].
Read that however you want, because my Frog Sauce is definitely not the same as yours.