thoughts don't come to you at your beck and call. you don't choose them. you don't know what the next one will be. in five seconds an image, a word, a wish will come into your head, and you don't know what it will be. but it will come. from where? who breathes those thoughts into your head? where were they before they became yours?

you can watch a hand rise, a body take a step, lips utter a phrase - and it all seems to be yours. but look closely: you've never really decided, have you? the decision just appears, like a dream you fall into without control. you feel like you're choosing the coffee, the route, the person. but what if you are not choosing, but playing out a pre-installed program, a script that is being fed to you from within?

you think you control your body. but you don't know how your heart beats. you don't know how a phrase is formed before you say it. you don't know why this particular emotion flared up now and not another. you just detect it - anger, fear, desire, guilt. you don't summon them. they come to you like guests you didn't invite. and you just open the door. you are not the master.

consciousness is a stage set. it's late to the party. it's always after. after the impulse. after action. after thought. it just tells itself a beautiful fairy tale that everything went according to plan. but you don't have a plan. just a flow. and you're not a swimmer. you're foam.

think about it, who hears your thoughts? who inside you is listening to that voice? who is watching? not the one who speaks - but the one who realizes that he is speaking. it is not the same thing. you are not the voice. you are the shadow into which it falls. you are not the action. you are the flicker before it. you are not the author. you are the screen. and something is writing phrases, desires, movements on you.