All of experience is life is always and everywhere I. It bursts out of pure dark inwardness and blossoms like a firework making a majestic arc to fall back into inwardness, into pure presence. All of this is entirely in the open, is apparance without a shadow. But at the same time through a small deviation in the current of desire, which descends into love, decays into a subtle holding on, a retraction, there arises the peculiar idea of separation, that the falling away exceeds a boundary, falls over the edge of a well and crosses over into a not-self, into an infinite inaccessibility, into a place we've heard so much about, only ever heard about and come to believe, objective reality or the third-person world, the common world that belongs to no one. What an extraordinary idea, that what this is is our being thrown into such a nightmare world that is more real than we are. It sends us off balance and in trying to reassert our intuitively known priority in this alien element the struggling and heroic self is born whose adventures are an inexhaustibly fascinating and tarnished dream.