We are a temporary arrangement of matter that knows it is temporary. This is the condition. Most attempts to escape it are noise.

There is a state below the noise. It has no name. It resists the ones we give it. It arrives when the body outpaces the mind. When the self thins out, and the things we are carrying drop without noticing.

It's the chase. The arrival isn't promised. The feeling isn't provided. But it's the only thing that doesn't leave.

Bliss — Off to find it.