Experience is carved out the sense of being, but since the latter includes the dimension of time as times very source and singularity every cut into it has the quality of a flow, of an oblique movement of failed coincidence of a sliding away, of an objectivity, of a venture of conceiving, that recedes into a mere ideation. Attention to the experience of experiencing arising in living being is of veils that peel away in the act of being seen, what is unmoving immediacy always here behind them, repelling them with the force of its silence, its sovereign inexistence, so they float away one after an other into melting form. This here, unseen, is so solid, so integral, but every grasping is a contraction of diaphanous error. However quiet the mind becomes the knowledge of itself falls away in unreality while the certainty that grounds it out of sight coincides exactly with its own existence. The 'ontological proof' is quietly triumphant in your heart with the force of all creation overflowing within it.