In plain sight, not hiding except when you look for it. Can you say what a thought is, or a desire, or a feeling, or mood or state? How do these fall upon you, how do they pass away? How do you fall upon yourself? Elaborations of a life, but how or where does this life come to be? A transparency prior to clouds, a transparency prior to light. Never closer or further away, you can't look for it, it is what looks, and is mistaken for the mind, is mistaken for a mirror. What changes is known by the unchanging, whatever is known is changing, is change, but does anything change except in thought. It bears no stain, it is untouched. Just unpick that one knot, how thought, the knowing of its own object falls upon it, like water from a spring, endlessly bubbling form. No water, no spring, no form.