Everything means, is what it is through meaning or meaningful refusal of meaning. This is a perspective that undermines the distinction between the worlds of dream and waking reality so that they form a totality whose outline, although lived in the greatest familiarity, seems extraordinary. It is a totality that comes over one, a mass of assumed certainties and necessities that impose themselves with inescapable force but then as suddenly waver and disappear. Days are extruded out of latency, their history blossoms and a portion of their future is consumed; and then they melt into themselves and withdraw back into the dark secret heart of things. And if days are like this then so are the seasons of a life and the entire life as well. This is not how it is but how it would be if there was a self and it was a passenger and life was a journey and all that nonsense; and something seems to want this so much as to almost make it true, if it only could. But how it is is this: no coming to be and no passing away, no here and no there - just as you've always known.