I don't know if I've ever lived authentically, but everyone does, and it's hard to tell if these things you see are real or not. The things you see are actually abstract light, and those sounds you hear are some waves. Everything is like a dream, and you don't know if you are a brain in a jar. So from then on, the truth or falsity of the world is no longer important. Dreams and reality also do not need to be distinguished clearly, because they are both created by the brain's exposure to external information. The tangled creatures exploded, plants grew in flesh and blood, and sea creatures swam in the air. Some of this is pleasant to humans and some of it is painful. Everything that has ever been done becomes a seed, and they are planted in my brain, growing uncontrollably with my thoughts as nourishment, spreading and expanding with dense rhizomes, and finally exploding into a clump of plants that bear fruit.
I love the warm bright patches of sunlight spilling through the gaps in the leaves.
I love the sound of birds vibrating their wings and stirring up the breeze.
I love the smell of wet earth from the grass after the rain.
I still want to praise lives, even if I don't know if they are real.