Descartes had it wrong.

Je pense donc je suis.

Cogito ergo sum.

I think therefore I am.

Not so, old man, not so!

Think of the climber atop a ridge. It is not thinking that makes him most alive. Oh no! For him it is mountain air, it is muscles pulsing from work, it is the view down and out and up forever, it is the sense of personal smallness amongst such extraordinary big, it is unspeakable awe where the only thought might be this: Wow.

Think, too, of the yogi, her limbs looped, her breath smooth, inhale and out. In this moment it is not individual thought -- but lack of it -- that gives her proof of life.

And think most of all, you and your lover in a night together. It is not thinking here that enlivens every cell. It is the skin to skin, the tender beat, beat, beat, the union total.

It is the physical.

Think of the runner, the swimmer. Think of the trapeze artist!

We are not thoughts only. We are creatures of the body, the breath, the soul, the absolute inexplicable.

Just think of me when I am dancing. It is the body of my partner and the body of me. There is music, tumbling notes, but there is no sense in it. There is movement only, and joy, and I assure you that when I am dancing -- without thought -- I very much am.