Something is, and how does it come about that it 'is' a life calling itself 'I' undergoing experience in the form of a world? This is massively strange because there is almost nothing in it, just a few points, stars that twinkle in a nothingness and a whole imaginary fabric that springs up and seems to be joining them together and that is itself made out of absences, being nothing. Thoughts, for example, say these ones, but what are they? Seeming to be solid chunks of meaning embodied in a thinker, but only in agreeing to ignore that there is no thinker and that the thoughts are mirage-like. You agree not to notice that you make no sense and are wildly, exuberantly, in excess of the evidence. Oh, it looks all so real, so natural! And it's not that it isn't, no argument, but that these too are just ideas with no substance at all since there is no one who has them but another idea, another mirage.