The Book: On the Taboo Against Knowing Who You Are

by Alan W. Watts

In every direction there is just the one Self playing its myriad games of hide-and-seek.

If I first see a tree in the winter, I might assume that it is not a fruit-tree. But when I return in the summer to find it covered with plums, I must exclaim, “Excuse me! You were a fruit-tree after all.”