It may look and feel at least partly organic, but the whole of mind seems in the end to be no more than a mechanism, a tool without true intelligence, blindly caught in endlessly repeating patterns, and cluttered with unnecessary embellishments and affectations. Thoughts spring up from other thoughts, seemingly keen and fresh and thrusting forwards into uncharted ground, but seen from above in the clear light of consciousness, these thought forms are merely dancing around in a circle, trapped forever within the same limited horizons.