God, your flat is filthy, W. says. You don't have any idea how to clean up, do you? W. suspects it's a Brahminical thing. I don't want to do any menial labour! I don't want to clean!
Detachment, that's what I'm cultivating, W. says. The maximum possible tension between outside (the squalor of the flat) and inside (the ultimate self, atman). I'll be like a drawn bow, ready to shoot myself towards enlightenment, W. says.
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