Strangeness upon strangeness. Nets on the skin of an ocean. So the seer disintegrates, diluted and dispersed, frayed into infinite pathways. Self and other explode into mind and world, every step a further step from the self. Distance increases everywhere, like yeast.
Every place is the centre, the starting place.
The self, though changing and shrinking every step, seems merely constant still, with an outer world increasingly complex, dense and erratic. World and self thicken. Blind to its own part in this, it sees only abruptness. The old immensity is now dimly seen as a lost blaze of wonder, the enveloping world as a hostile, foreign place. Locked in that, it is the silent seer still, but its memory has gone.