Every so often, between one thought and another, familiar perceptions arose. Sensations made of the same stuff as when I was five years old and I observed my hand against the sun, and saw that it was all pink, and wondered what it was made of. Or the time in my father’s garage, aged 6, when I saw a piece of chamois that had dried, taking on the form of the bucket on which it had been placed. Further on, over the years, I asked myself if it was an object of memory of form, or form of memory... It was the same familiarity one feels in pain, which tore me apart when I was a bit older, or in the immense joy of the moment when my first daughter was born.
It is that familiarity, with its sense of authenticity, that has remained inside me, from that day on. And that was when I perceived something. You do not have to “know” how to meditate; it is not something connected with knowledge (and it is not even something). Its starting point is seeking: happiness, peace, balance, creativity, awareness, or anything else.