I sit on the banks of the river of my own thoughts. I see the river of thoughts spilling out into an ocean of thoughts. The river is fast at times. The ocean is deep. I am sitting in pleasant green grass on the bank. I am detached from my thoughts, though I imagine I am somewhere in them. The landscape is shaped by my thoughts, the way land is shaped by rivers. What is the pleasant grass under my mind's eye? What am I sitting on? What is the sky in this place? The metaphor is not perfect.
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