From time to time you come across startling theories of the subject, of consciousness as it is now, which throw light onto hitherto unnoticed or only vaguely discerned aspects of functioning. As theories however they are nothing more than maps drawn from a position somewhat outside of this functioning, and this automatically limits the kind of illuminations they can produce. The subjective functioning is unlimitedly illuminable in this sense, there are endless fresh lights that can be directed onto it, a kaleidoscope of brilliant insights which each seem for a time to leave no more mystery but for the tiny frustration of that slight displacement that marks the inner limit of motivated knowing. You could say that the subject is the reflecting of itself, but in doing so you attenuate the sense of reflection to a meaning, to a neutral tool of understanding. If real insight could be expressed in words then every word or concept would name a living being, and not any sort of being but a wild fire-breathing dragon powered by the explosive energy at the heart of being. The intelligence in a theory is a measure of energy and most of the time the energies that engage and fascinate you are merely the echoes of forces incomparably greater.