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Detach some temperate layer of your egoical self, some gentle, unspectacular aspect of your existence which slips along quietly with, it would seem, reasonable justification, in your daily round; call it a mental habituation, a familiar trait or predisposition which guides the patterning of what you take yourself to be — absenting this aspect, what remains of you is only a dispassionate witness — and now established so, regard yourself denuded of your particularised selfhood, allow your awareness to rise to a great height and survey the vista below, examining further that which now befalls you with detachment, no longer to identify with it, rather to permit the spawning of curiosity and interest alone; that is, interrogate outside of the observed turmoil below the quotidian chaos ensuing when moments and events become ‘interesting’ [see: Chinese proverb/ Terry Pratchett] and for so long as you retain such interest (through bald awareness’ perception of how very odd a human life can be) so too shall you survive it to the fullest possible extent whilst managing to hold fast those few remaining marbles caroming in your psyche’s pocket.

Now, let awareness float back down to occupy your body, take the biscuit tin off your head, get ready to laugh at yourself (possibly with a soupçon, a blade’s edge of darkened humour), and rest, content.