Here's the schizophrenic ride: A little outdoors, a relationship with the outside; It's different from the times you are in house of your good shepherd, who forces yourself to adjust socially to to the God of religion, to the father, to the mother; On your walk, by contrast, you are in the mountains, under the snow, with other gods or no god, no family, no father or mother, with nature; you probably ask yourself, “What does my father want? Can he offer me more? Impossible! Leave me alone". Everything makes up machine. Heavenly machines, the stars or the rainbow, alpine machines that mate with those of your body. Everything is actually an uninterrupted noise of machines; We “felt that it must be a sense of infinite happiness to be so touched by the primitive life of every species, to be sensitive to rocks, metals, water, and plants, to capture in yourself, as in a dream, every creature of the world; nature, just as flowers absorb the air as the moon waxes and wanes. ” Being a chlorophilic or photosynthetic machine, or at least cushioning your body as a part in such machines, we thus fall short of the human-nature distinction, below all the markings that such distinction conditions. Nature is not lived as "nature", but as a process of production. There is no man or nature in this case anymore, but only a process that produces them in each other and engages the machines.
