Mental consciousness comes about against a background of implicit understandings by which it acquires whatever sense it has, or it is the salience of one phase of this knowing mass, its separation out of an already existent ocean of thought - but how is such separation possible? What is it that distinguishes, that presumes to have already chosen, to have known how to choose, any thought at all, including this one? It is nearly impossible to describe how strange this apparently banal and habitual experience is. To go back upstream of any thought only to find other thoughts, very quick and spreading out in every direction, like a voice suddenly picked out in a murmuring hubbub, sounds that speak and prove to have been whole sentences. It is just as hard to say what a thought is, but for its incorrigible illusion of self-transparency. We ought to know, it is us at the heart of certainty, of the identity of thinking and being, but it proves dark and elusive. Feeling, closer to being, precedes thinking, but we cannot discern the point at which thinking emerges out of feeling like a rim or fringe in a field of changing light. Feeling too, the very field without a centre, embodiment, is itself a differentiation out of an ocean of feeling, as is will the natural prior of feeling, closer yet to being, like breathing, the resting body of the world; it was you doing it before you ever acted. You are there, you have always been there, you wake out of a dawn that that was already in full swing, that was already awake before being noticed, even in deep sleep knowing the way. You am.