I am the person in my thoughts.
When I think of me, there I am.
When my attention is elsewhere,
I don’t notice I’m missing.
If I were to think about it
– there I’d be again, assuming
I’d been there all along.
I never see my absence, since
I ‘look’ for me by thinking.
If I check my experience though,
I am always absent. Everything I
experience appears as not me,
I seem to be the one experiencing it.
Anything can be the object of attention,
anything at all – except the subject.
We always keep things at arm’s length.
I think I am a conscious object in space
– No, I am Space: empty of me,
full of everything and everybody else.
Pieces of Five 