So much of experience consists of the thoughts that give an account of experience. This is so common that you don't stop to notice how strange it is. The whole scheme of the world you've worked up so artfully is only that, it isn't the world itself, it isn't the actuality of what brings about experience. It's all done with thoughts, and if you make a show of skepticism about what some thoughts seem to imply, you take for granted the very nature of thought, that it consists of these transient perturbations of what exactly? Nothing could be simpler than a thought, it weighs nothing at all, floats up out of unknown depths and bursts softly like a bubble, it is phosphorescent and sheds its light both ways, towards its object and its thinker, linking the two together - and in this sense that whatever it might be a thought of, it seems to be a little piece of the real, seems to possess a depth beyond the field of its object. It works because it is believed, but the ground of its belief is only a part of itself. A thought is pure map, but since it provides the very idea of territory we take it for illuminating the territory in its reflexive glow, rather than only distinguishing it by its shadow.