Take, say, being in a room of interesting objects, most of which you have some notion about but some of which there is only but curiosity, confusion or ignorance. These objects draw you in, do they not? You happen to be in this room, in relation to these objects, and thus you may feel a certain way. Perhaps if it is a strange laboratory you may feel bewilderment. Perhaps it is your grandmother's sunroom, full of trinkets, and you may feel emotions of happiness, warmth, maybe many other emotions. And so, the point is, it seems that the 'things' of the world, once one has a conscious apprehension of them whether it be by sight, sound, touch, abstraction, etc., have a mind of their own, in that they themselves occupy a certain space of the mind and 'permute' it to be a certain way, a way of which, experienced consciously, would be different in another situation amongst other apprehendable objects. There seems to be always, for me, an atmosphere of thought in which thought makes its steps, like me when I walked through the nature trail near my house growing up... The thoughts were often the same there, and there expressed to be, surrounded by these things absorbed into my immediate awareness, a certain uniqueness of this formulation of the world-- this place in the world.
When one drives a car, too, one enters a different world, of which the existence entails signs and a strange operation of machine, speed, signaling and a consciousness of activity, alterness, even altered mood patterns.
The steering wheel provides with it an absorption of consciousness even... The windows. The seatbelt. The whole situation brings with it a mind of its own, and it seems the only way to escape this into a mind of contemplation is the realization that the mind is everything it is not, because it is constantly aware that it is more than it is aware of, and that the mind is not what it is, in that it always transcends what it appears to be or may be formed to be in some sense.
Other examples, tracing back, include the fixed realities of a life of modern instrumentality and materialism, in that one forms their personality according to associated meanings within certain experiences, and sometimes associated with individual objects of thought or perception. This creates an unnecessary number of divisions of oneself but seems to be the more normal way of being today, with so many people. It seems that this will to 'finding oneself' involves realizing that the only self is an almost infinitely fragmented self, which is differently according to each different contingency, and each different paradigm of association. It seems that finding oneself inevitably involves moving away from a solitary depiction of ones being, and adopts the rejection of ever finding out anything about who they are in this sort of way. The way in which, contrarily, one must search for themselves is in constantly creating themselves, and living amongst the flux, in between the cracks and amongst the walls, the things, the colors, the shapes.

What are your ideas?

Or completely ignore this post.