Watch a child walk into a new room.

Presence isn't a technique we acquire, it's the attention we had before anyone taught us to skip ahead, and most of what gets called nonduality is just the walk back. A child entering a grocery store is doing the thing on purpose that we spent twenty years training out of ourselves: meeting an object before a label gets stapled to it. We call it immaturity because it is slow, and slow is expensive in a world that pays for speed. But recognition is a shortcut, and every shortcut skips the world — the aisle you walked yesterday is different light, different molecules, a different arrangement of the one thing looking at itself. Nothing has to be repeated for us to notice we have stopped looking. Try one aisle this week with your basket of labels set down, and see what was there the whole time.