What exactly am I seeing when I see? Sometimes I think I’m looking at something, but am I? Maybe I’m just looking at my idea of a thing, my memory of things, or what I think a thing should probably be?

And who is doing all this seeing anyway? Something seems to notice colors and shapes, but then something else immediately jumps in to name them, categorize them, and judge them.

Dream, baby, dream; of all that’s come and going.

Could there be layers to this whole experience, maybe ripples, each creating its pattern yet all part of the same water? I notice my eyes picking up light, but then there’s this endless stream of thoughts about what I’m seeing, memories it reminds me of, and feelings it brings up.

And what about that quiet presence that seems to be there even when I’m not thinking about it?

There’s my endless journal inside, holding every moment I’ve ever experienced, every habit I’ve ever formed. But is it storing anything for good, or is it something that keeps flowing? And who’s doing the flowing?

It’s strange how there’s always this sense of “me” hanging around, isn’t it? Even when everything else changes – thoughts, feelings, sensations – that feeling somehow stays. But when I try to find and pin it down, it slips away like trying to grab.

And then there’s this deeper current underneath it all, something that seems to hold everything else, an ocean containing all the waves. But is it separate from the waves? Am I the ocean pretending to be a wave, or am I really a wave dreaming it’s the ocean?

I see the dust cloud disappear without a trace.

Maybe all these layers are just different ways of looking at the same thing. A house isn’t separate from its rooms; perhaps I am just all these aspects playing together.

I guess everyone has these same layers of experience—the sensing, the naming, the feeling, the remembering, the knowing of being someone, and that space that holds it all. Everyone might be like an ocean, each unique but made of plain water.

You are always welcome.