Sensory particularity is just what it is, and although experience ought to be built up out of nothing but these intrinsically delicious particulars which have their being in exactly the way that presence is, there is always something else added into the relation, an inconvenient third, which is meaning, or ideality. Whenever this extra ingredient can be seen as itself made up out of particulars, of qualia, then it is if we have disentangled ourselves to some degree from the dream life in which we have been suspended, and this brings with it a sense of restored happiness. It's not that you suspend thoughts but that you have discovered a tiny gap that separates you from them and by which you can endow them with the nature of mere happenings in sensation. It would be unfair to say that the whole process depends on an understanding of the constituents of experience and hence is itself only an idea, but the ideal shadows it closely and almost instantly produces its ghostly replica. And that process too, at the very root of thought, is made up out of nothing but particulars.