Do you know what at a ‘Thought’ is? I don’t [but then, nor do Universities which do a fine trade in refining it].
The problem is that every time I work up a thought to nail this buzzing fly called ‘Thought’, I am squarely in the Self-Loop.
I Think. I Think that I think. I Think that I think that I think…
This thing I have nailed as ‘Thought’ by thinking about it, by that very fact, cannot be ‘Thought’.
It’s origin is unknown [grab that next thought please, and ask it where it came from].
It’s stage can’t be located. [Inside my head? Beneath the sink? In Kiev?]
It’s terminus is not found. [Where do all those thoughts go, like stairs in an escalator?].
I can’t see it. I can’t hear it. I can’t smell it. And any thinking about it, muddles it more. [Dodgy Fellow, this ‘Thought’. So try and not think a thought for the next sixty seconds.]
No self-respecting scientist would take seriously something to which he cannot give the simplest of coordinates. [I cannot deny you the smile: at least one noted Philosopher majisterially defines a Philosopher as one who: ‘Thinks about Thinking’.]
There is nothing I understand less than this thing called ‘Thought’. Yet nothing is more real to me than this which I understand the least.