A Thing (n.) is a simplified unit of attention cut from the total field; the eye sees the whole field, and things appear only to the mind.
A Thing (n.) is a measuring unit of thought, as a pound is of weighing — nobody thinks twelve inches of wood are twelve separate bits.
A Thing (n.) is counted by convention: one human organism is one thing, or as many things as it has organs, or merely part of a group.
Thing (n.) such as rocks and clouds look most like themselves to a Chinese eye when least like the forms of the geometer and architect.
Thing (n.) must be seen together with the form of the space between it and the next.
Thing (n.) is a unit of description, not a natural entity — which is why Buddhist texts say that things have no reality of their own.
Thing (n.) are what the world gets chopped into by our way of looking; then we puzzle over how the bits are connected and cause one another.
Thing (n.) are no more than glimpses of one unified process — and distinction is not separation.
Thing (n.) is a convention of thought: why should the head not include the neck, as it includes the nose?
A Thing (n.) is only a convenient unit of perception, a peg for a name, cut from the endless flow of lines, colors and textures.
A Thing (n.) has no fixed final boundary — dividing the world into things is as arbitrary as grouping the stars into constellations.
A Thing (n.) considered simply by itself has no reality at all; all things are in relation.
A Thing (n.) is a term, not an entity — it lives in the abstract world of thought, not in the concrete world of nature.
A Thing (n.) is less an entity than a form, a ripple of differentiation in the unified field of the Tao.