Reality is an apple. We eat around the core; we throw it away.
We endure the skin, even though it is fibrous and sometimes gets stuck in our teeth, so that we can gorge ourselves the sweet flesh that is life: that is experience and feeling and sensation.
Reality is an apple in a grocery store, spritzed and polished. We inspect the skin for bruises, we admire the way the skin catches and reflects the light. We pick a few, the “best” ones, even though we know there’s no real way of telling which ones have already turned rotten inside.
We delude ourselves with this false choice: do not choose an apple for its skin.
And although we do not eat them, don’t ignore the seeds or the core:
For the core held the apple to the tree, and apple seeds–though poisonous–are the way that we make more.