There’s a little question in shaded text that occupies this box prior to my obliterating it by replying (and it’s useful to notice that we do this each time we post, and it means something). Is there something on my mind?

One possible difference between me and many other people was that I notice this thing sitting there, this question, and I often take it rather seriously. Seriously enough to realize that my mind is not like a shelf or a table, or even a plane. There is, in fact, nothing ‘on’ my mind as I understand it, because my mind is not a surface.

But if I begin to think of mind as a complexly conjugated surface, multiple strangely warbling balloon-like membranes intersecting and creating patterns of interference which may emerge as such complex phenomenon as thought, memory and emotion… a surface which appears only in the inexplicable transpresence of many ways, minds, beings, and moments… a nonordinary, transcendental surface… well, at that point… you won’t be hearing from me for a while and the question is obviously rendered incoherent by the nature of my reply.