It seems as if we are looking at the same world, in the same world, out of the same world. Because we can see, we think. We are seeing the same. But we do not see. I gaze into you and yet I see only what my eyes have been taught to see. I have no idea of your world. I do not know who you are. The image I have of you is an adapted one, adapted to my perceptive capacity.
This ability of mine is distinct, and so I paint you in the most peculiar colors. Until you have become so unrecognizable that I am no longer able to recognize the ground on which I paint. And then I become blinded by the many iridescent colors.
In complete darkness, unblinded, I recognize, slowly. And I see. A multiverse reveals itself around me; I was always searching for the next dimension, now I see. You are it. And you. And also you. As inexplicable as they can be, deep, mysterious. Not of this, of my world. And I look around. Countless dimensions, that have spent a lifetime hidden in a homogeneous, seemingly objective reality.
And in the middle of it all. Me. On the way into a new dimension.