It's a lot easier to deal with the misunderstanding of our outer reality, which runs in the sun channel, than to correct the misunderstanding of the person—meaning ourselves—which runs in the moon channel.

Take the outer reality of a pen, for example. If I hold a pen up to you and ask you what it is, you automatically say “A pen.” And in that split second you also believe that it's a pen from its own side. You think that “pen-ness” is somehow coming out of the pen itself.

But if we hold the same object up to a dog, he simply sees it as a mildly interesting stick: perhaps something good to chew on.

A moment's reflection tells us that neither view of the object is more “correct.” And we also quickly see that “pen-ness” is not exuding from the pen. Rather, “pen” is a perfect little idea-picture imposed upon a shiny cylinder by my own mind. And which picture my mind comes up with all depends on the seeds—on how I've treated others.

That's in fact what makes me a human, and the dog a dog. Even the question of whether you can think these ideas is coming from the seeds.