Thoughts don't just arise from nowhere, they work their way out from the mind's intestines and you know them before they are even half way out. Why is the little clearing of waking consciousness so murky just after you awaken from dreaming sleep? Isn't it because it is so much closer to the bodily reflexes, the weird enjoyments, that make up the ever-present background of the mind, that churning mass of half-avowed passions given free reign. There is nothing resembling enlightenment in this only the fumes of self-devouring consumption, of meat work. What makes for salience in this festering pit but primal passions, lust, envy, pride, repeatedly giving birth to the body of delight, the self?