What is this "this" like.
It's sitting here, writing, feeling chilly, drinking tea. It's literally what is happening.
Also what can be here, is a looking for it. Feeling like there is something else to find. Feeling like there is a me in this body that is dissatisfied and needs to find home.
Sitting on the chair reading, is home.
There is no where else to go. This sense of self, is what's happening. It can't move anywhere. There is no where for it to move to. It is, in a sense, part of the furniture. The only difference is, is that it is saying otherwise. Utterly convinced that there is something else. It has always done this. That is the way it functions. It's an illusion of self. An illusion that never really moves forward, only in its own story. It puts the appearance of past and future together and comes up with the illusory story of itself moving in time. It puts 2 and 2 together and comes up with 5.