“We never keep to the present time. We anticipate the future as too slow in coming, as if to hasten its course; or we recall the past in order to stop it as too swift: so imprudent are we that we wander in times that are not ours and do not think of the only one that belongs to us; and so vain that we think of those which are nothing and thoughtlessly let slip the only one that subsists. This is because the present usually hurts us. We hide it from our sight because it afflicts us; and if it is pleasant, we regret seeing it slip away. We try to support it by the future and think of arranging things that are not in our power for a time we have no assurance of reaching.
Let each person examine his thoughts: he will find them always occupied with the past or the future. We scarcely think of the present; and if we do think of it, it is only to draw light from it in order to arrange the future. The present is never our end; the past and the present are our means; the future alone is our end.
Thus we never live, but we hope to live; and always preparing to be happy, it is inevitable that we never are.”

Blaise Pascal, Pensées (Inconstancy fragment, Brunschvicg ed. 172 / Lafuma 47)

Anatole’s notebook

The question arises like a spontaneous apparition. It arrives without warning and immediately finds its place. Will I gain access to a truly new thought? A thought that goes beyond improvement and correction, a thought issuing from a still unexplored source within the field of possibilities. I let this question resonate within me and immediately perceive the subtle trap it carries. Its very form reproduces exactly what I am trying to go beyond.
I then examine more carefully what I call thinking. I observe in it a movement that takes its support from what is already known. One image leads to another. A memory extends into an expectation. Even invention proceeds by assemblage. The apparent rupture corresponds to a displacement within the same territory. Thought reveals itself to me as conditioned, not because it lacks value, but because of its automatic character. It operates effectively. It acts before fully welcoming what presents itself.
An understanding gradually settles in: to seek a new thought still belongs to the activity of thinking. The past projects itself toward a future imagined as free. This movement maintains the circle. Conditioning is preserved by the very effort meant to abolish it. The image of water becomes clear: wanting to pull oneself out by tugging at one’s reflection belongs to the same circular logic.
A transformation occurs elsewhere. It concerns the relationship to thought. I stop asking it for what lies beyond its domain. I stop entrusting it with the expectation of a revelation. I watch it pass. I observe its repetitions and its detours. I grant it an open attention, without intention. In this quality of looking, something unexpected appears.
Moments arise in which thought interrupts itself. This interruption happens naturally, carried by the obviousness of the instant. These moments fill with a quiet presence. A direct perception unfolds, without an inner voice to name it. It is not a new thought. It is the disappearance of the need to think.