“At last, I began to sense … something impossible. I became the consciousness of a place. I was unlocated. Historyless. The idea of identity was absurd. It was a sort of pure flow. Like wind. It does not come from somewhere. It is not going somewhere. Flow-as-way. There is no ‘function’ of it. The whole idea of ‘purpose’ is gone. My body was there, but I wasn’t. I was consciousness without subject. I was not ‘a’ consciousness. I was simply consciousness. This was not ecstatic. It was, somehow, better than ecstasy. It was quietly true.”

— an anonymous informant