On the surface, just below, or in an intermediate depth, thoughts float as debris, and some are caught in the ancient nets of consciousness.
As debris, they are decomposing and do not inspire anythingthing in particular.
Are they still alive? Nothing is less certain.
Reminiscences of what they may have been, for a moment, in their hour of glory,
they thus clump together, one after the other, carried by the currents.
If the diver remains near the nets, the thought stories he reads will have little meaning.
If he is gifted, he will be able to reassemble their color, their plot, their belonging, their genesis,
but this is generally a waste of time and energy.
It is better for the diver not to have overly sharp faculties in these areas and to continue on his way.
The day will come when these very writings will be seen as intermediary debris, caught in the ancient nets of consciousness.
When the diver acclimates his organism to the depths of the ocean, he will stop coming to inquire about the intervening waters, and these nets will then no longer be consulted (and these nets will then no longer exist).
Notes & Silence 