It's not about an "I" thought, as if it were some unwarranted supplement, but an effect of the ultimate stage of the crystallisation of the phenomenon into form and its shattering, like the shape of the final spume of spray that marks the wave's breaking on the shore. But crystallisation is exactly what never happens. Without freezing, the water's fluidity is wholly formed for the briefest interval as it stands out in the living air, in marked contrast to the push and pull of currents and eddies in which it was merged just a moment ago and to which it will return in a further moment. The heart, or hearth, of conscious thought, to slide to a new metaphor, is that compact illuminated clearing in the cave of the skull, the free play of forming powers, like the playful elements, water and fire and air. The making and breaking of form assumes a certain priority in being as if it were the telos, the final cause of the whole thing, present throughout and fully sufficient. But these qualifications are just aspects of the spume, of its excess of form, and count for nothing in themselves. It is the entire system, every gradation between formless and form, the wave and the ocean, that has been going on immemorially, without need of any focus. A perceptual metaphor entails a metaphorical perceiver engaged in a process of perception. To find that perceiver once and for all would be to escape the perils of contingency. This is the trap that everone falls into, and out of which you have built your entire story.