As if this big pearl-grey block, like a warm iceberg has drifted into your field and bobbed stupidly up against your nose. You can't see around it, you can't even focus on it, but you can't push it away either, it's too big, too heavy to budge, even if it seems weightless enough to float in space. Your habitual focus towards the distant object is cut off, towards anything as long as it is out there, out of reach, arousing the mind. This lump, whatever it is, slays the mind, thoughts can't get a grip on it, can't crack it or melt it. What is it? Maybe it is your brain? It is you, nausea without any nausea, as if that feeling of compelled absorption into your own stuff that belongs to nausea is there but without any of the negative feelings. You can't resist it, neither can you enjoy it, it just is, and it makes all the adventures of thought seem absurd and futile, they only go out of this so they can come back to this. Whatever it is you imagine discovering this is its very self and the whole scaffolding that creates values out of lack, out of questioning, falls away into absurdity. The goal but not as goal, never found because never lost.