It was not a subtle shift, but a sudden one—a slender shard of light, an opening up, an illumination. For an instant, I saw with astonishing clarity, and then it was gone. The opening closed, the light vanished, but the thought remained. If I close my eyes, I can see it still, sense it still, feel it still. I was standing in front of the fireplace in our family living room, watching the flames as I often did, sometimes with my family, sometimes alone. That evening, I was alone. How I loved watching the flames. They were so alive, yet so comforting. I was seven or eight, but I’m not certain. I am certain in that particular instant that I knew “I” was.

“I’m thinking,” I said to myself. “I’m thinking.” Something in my mind had shifted, expanded, and I knew in that instant that “I was me” and “I” was thinking. No one else was thinking for me, and I was a part of something much bigger.