The piece feels like someone gently holding a small, ordinary moment a kitten padding through a warm house and letting it open into a much larger question about what we call “real.” The kitten’s effortless comfort becomes a mirror for how much of our own experience is built from assumptions we never examine. The shift to Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor’s story widens everything: the moment her left‑brain circuitry went silent, the boundaries of “I” dissolved, revealing a vastness we rarely dare to imagine. The essay suggests that our identity our pride, our titles, our sense of importance is held together by something as fragile as a few neural connections. Even our love, like loving a kitten because she is soft and pretty, is shaped by perception rather than essence. Beneath the gentle tone lies a disarming question: if the picture changes, who are we really. The text invites humility, tenderness, and a kind of quiet awe at how easily the self can expand or vanish. It leaves us standing in that space between illusion and truth, holding a kitten and wondering what, exactly, we are holding.
Starting with a kitten and ending with the universe is such a sneak attack. Soft, curious, and quietly dismantling the whole idea of who we think we are.
Gentle but unsettling in that good way that makes you stare at the room a little longer.
The piece feels like someone gently holding a small, ordinary moment a kitten padding through a warm house and letting it open into a much larger question about what we call “real.” The kitten’s effortless comfort becomes a mirror for how much of our own experience is built from assumptions we never examine. The shift to Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor’s story widens everything: the moment her left‑brain circuitry went silent, the boundaries of “I” dissolved, revealing a vastness we rarely dare to imagine. The essay suggests that our identity our pride, our titles, our sense of importance is held together by something as fragile as a few neural connections. Even our love, like loving a kitten because she is soft and pretty, is shaped by perception rather than essence. Beneath the gentle tone lies a disarming question: if the picture changes, who are we really. The text invites humility, tenderness, and a kind of quiet awe at how easily the self can expand or vanish. It leaves us standing in that space between illusion and truth, holding a kitten and wondering what, exactly, we are holding.
So beautifully examined. Thank you again Adriao
“It’s all maya, illusion.”
Starting with a kitten and ending with the universe is such a sneak attack. Soft, curious, and quietly dismantling the whole idea of who we think we are.
Gentle but unsettling in that good way that makes you stare at the room a little longer.
Thank you Asuka. Thank you for appreciating my words