The step from dream to reality so-called, is the step between layers of dreams. And the smallest place, the frailest wisp of time, contains the very infinities it excludes Pain is a description merely, a pattern scratched in eternity, not one step away from strangeness, not a breath away from silence. Everywhere, the recall of the old, the creation of the new. It is one shape of strangeness. The privacy of minds is a case of it.
Separate seers are pathways in the self.
Self and other exist in each other. Exclusion is density, not loss. Thus, my ignorance of your inner world is a description merely. Believing it, I deny what is always present. I neither see you, nor hear.