Present are only sensory experiences, polyphonic, all life in the moment in these colours, smells, feels, sounds, that change from moment to moment, and then a cloud of thoughts cascading and airy nothings but performed wildly and without consequence. There is no sensory life unless you know what you encounter, can name it, the taste of an ice-cream, the smell of a pie, the squawk of a parrot, the smell of a bus, the pressure on a key, and again none of that without attention. It is attention that you are, the free focalisation on this and now this and now this. To bring yourself to bear lightly on these changing objects you choose and so must know before the act itself where to turn next, or where and how to focus open expectation, how tight the intent, unless forced by a sudden violation of the interlocking harmonics. What you are is in attention and experience is what is given to it, half-predictable, half-troubling. So bend attention in onto attention, the very pulp, reveal the only thing you know.