{"id":"01KG8AKQYPCT8CDB9CA3FRQ0XD","cid":"bafkreigqt3zliadbjildpfqonbow2i2itqjx7itn374qhbmkzyhwfj73ai","type":"chunk","properties":{"end_line":5339,"extracted_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:09.927Z","extracted_by":"structure-extraction-lambda","label":"Chunk 3","source_file":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","start_line":5260,"text":"was not I, Babbalanja, now speaking, that committed them. Nevertheless,\r\nmy lord, this very day I may do some act, which at a future period may\r\nseem equally senseless; for in one lifetime we live a hundred lives. By\r\nthe incomprehensible stranger in me, I say, this body of mine has been\r\nrented out scores of times, though always one dark chamber in me is\r\nretained by the old mystery.”\r\n\r\n“Will you never come to the mark, Babbalanja? Tell me something direct\r\nof the stranger. Who, what is he? Introduce him.”\r\n\r\n“My lord, I can not. He is locked up in me. In a mask, he dodges me. He\r\nprowls about in me, hither and thither; he peers, and I stare. This is\r\nhe who talks in my sleep, revealing my secrets; and takes me to unheard\r\nof realms, beyond the skies of Mardi. So present is he always, that I\r\nseem not so much to live of myself, as to be a mere apprehension of the\r\nunaccountable being that is in me. Yet all the time, this being is I,\r\nmyself.”\r\n\r\n“Babbalanja,” said Media, “you have fairly turned yourself inside out.”\r\n\r\n“Yes, my lord,” said Mohi, “and he has so unsettled me, that I begin to\r\nthink all Mardi a square circle.”\r\n\r\n“How is that, Babbalanja,” said Media, “is a circle square?”\r\n\r\n“No, my lord, but ever since Mardi began, we Mardians have been\r\nessaying our best to square it.”\r\n\r\n“Cleverly retorted. Now, Babbalanja, do you not imagine, that you may\r\ndo harm by disseminating these sophisms of yours; which like your devil\r\ntheory, would seem to relieve all Mardi from moral accountability?”\r\n\r\n“My lord, at bottom, men wear no bonds that other men can strike off;\r\nand have no immunities, of which other men can deprive them. Tell a\r\ngood man that he is free to commit murder,—will he murder? Tell a\r\nmurderer that at the peril of his soul he indulges in murderous\r\nthoughts,—will that make him a saint?”\r\n\r\n“Again on the verge, Babbalanja? Take not the leap, I say.”\r\n\r\n“I can leap no more, my lord. Already I am down, down, down.”\r\n\r\n“Philosopher,” said Media, “what with Azzageddi, and the mysterious\r\nindweller you darkly hint of, I marvel not that you are puzzled to\r\ndecide upon your identity. But when do you seem most yourself?”\r\n\r\n“When I sleep, and dream not, my lord.”\r\n\r\n“Indeed?”\r\n\r\n“Why then, a fool’s cap might be put on you, and you would not know\r\nit.”\r\n\r\n“The very turban he ought to wear,” muttered Mohi.\r\n\r\n“Yet, my lord, I live while consciousness is not mine, while to all\r\nappearances I am a clod. And may not this same state of being, though\r\nbut alternate with me, be continually that of many dumb, passive\r\nobjects we so carelessly regard? Trust me, there are more things alive\r\nthan those that crawl, or fly, or swim. Think you, my lord, there is no\r\nsensation in being a tree? feeling the sap in one’s boughs, the breeze\r\nin one’s foliage? think you it is nothing to be a world? one of a herd,\r\nbison-like, wending its way across boundless meadows of ether? In the\r\nsight of a fowl, that sees not our souls, what are our own tokens of\r\nanimation? That we move, make a noise, have organs, pulses, and are\r\ncompounded of fluids and solids. And all these are in this Mardi as a\r\nunit. Daily the slow, majestic throbbings of its heart are perceptible\r\non the surface in the tides of the la-goon. Its rivers are its veins;\r\nwhen agonized, earthquakes are its throes; it shouts in the thunder,\r\nand weeps in the shower; and as the body of a bison is covered with\r\nhair, so Mardi is covered with grasses and vegetation, among which, we\r\nparasitical things do but crawl, vexing and tormenting the patient\r\ncreature to which we cling. Nor yet, hath it recovered from the pain of\r\nthe first foundation that was laid. Mardi is alive to its axis. When\r\nyou pour water, does it not gurgle? When you strike a pearl shell, does\r\nit not ring? Think you there is no sensation in being a rock?—To exist,\r\nis to be; to be, is to be something: to be something, is—”\r\n\r\n“Go on,” said Media.\r\n\r","title":"Chunk 3"},"relationships":[{"peer":"01KG8AJSXQ4NYSBNDXGDVJNG87","peer_type":"chapter","predicate":"in"},{"peer":"01KG89J1954N2G0NAERBNJXEX9","peer_type":"file","predicate":"extractedFrom"},{"peer":"01KG89HMDZKNY753EZE1CJ8HZW","peer_type":"collection","predicate":"collection"},{"peer":"01KG8AKQYK4RB9BVWQDASH0XGF","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"prev"},{"peer":"01KG8AKQYT3RR2HNHXXTADJRF7","peer_type":"chunk","predicate":"next"}],"ver":2,"created_at":"2026-01-30T20:48:14.294Z","ts":"2026-01-30T20:48:23.066Z","edited_by":{"method":"manual","user_id":"01KFF0H3YRP9ZSM033AM0QJ47H"}}