Somewhere along the way, being you became a full-time job.

A large tree grows on the hill. Its silhouette against the light blue sky is majestic and vivid. Anyone who passes by cannot miss the prominence of the tree, as it basks in the rays of the morning sun. It knows it is seen. It knows it dominates the hillside by the grandeur of its ancient form. Every evening, just before sunset, the tree contemplates its own form and all the glances of the random passers-by. It takes in everything that has happened during the day, then falls asleep to those primal thoughts concerning itself and the life it lives.

Every morning, when the first rays of sun light up the green leaves on the branches, there is a moment of silence. Conscious silence. Relaxed alertness of a place and time called here and now. The branches reach up to the open sky. The roots dig deeper into the ground, which has given life to the tree. The tree becomes the hill, and the hill becomes the Earth, and the Earth becomes the sky. The tree does not have to think. Just being is sufficient.

Suddenly it becomes aware of the break of dawn. Through that awareness, thoughts come pouring in. Thoughts of the past, thoughts of the future, all of them describing the life of the tree from the viewpoint of itself or through the views of the passers-by. The tree is always seen in some way simply because it exists, and every time someone looks at it, the tree reactively adopts a constantly changing image of itself. As with every day before, the tree becomes the centre of its own universe, restricted by its branches and roots.

Every night the sleep holds promises of the morning's silence and the unity of the Earth and the sky lasting a bit longer. Somewhere deep within, the tree knows that it only has to see through the dreams that occur after waking up.

Just like the tree's majestic form and the image of itself created by others, we have at the focal point of our life an image that we call I. The I seems to be thinking, feeling and experiencing. It comments on the world around us. It labels everything we perceive through our senses. It repeats events that have happened in our past and tries to foresee events in our future. The voice of the I feels like our own, but at times it might resemble the voice of our parents, children, loved ones or acquaintances. Above all, the voice of the I is incessant. It does not leave us alone.

Despite the massive effects thoughts have on our life situations, we are not usually aware that we are thinking. It happens mostly out of sight. A significant part of thinking is made up of a chaotic mass of memories, views and opinions that linger under the surface. Only the tip of the iceberg is visible.