Whatever the superficial fuss, however busy I pretend to be, I notice that I am in fact bone lazy. When I attend carefully to what lies right here at the storm-centre of the universe, I find perfect calm. The middle of the world has quietly dropped out—but really it never had a middle, and was always hollow, coreless. This Hub of the ever-turning cosmic wheel has never been anything but still, idle, and vacant.

I also observe, radiating like four wobbly spokes from the Hub, these legs and arms going about their business, just as these men and animals and clouds and stars are going about theirs, without any interference from me. Here at the Centre I can find no aims, no needs, no responsibilities, no sense of controlling anything whatsoever: out there all goes well enough on its own. In any case, how could this central Nothing bring any influence to bear upon that peripheral something, and still be Nothing? And, in fact, whenever I pretend that these arms and legs are thoroughly mine, are 3rd-person type and continuous with a complete human body, instead of 1st-person type and quite loose, their work deteriorates. They do best when seen as they really are – free of me.