In a dream when you were surprised by the sudden reappearance of a dead friend who it turned out had faked her death so that she could take a long vacation - and indeed she looked quite fresh, hair more lustrous than you'd ever seen it and face relaxed and smiling - you went from marveling at what a good piece of play-acting she'd pulled off to seriously wondering whether you might be dreaming. But no, you looked within and assessed the quality of your experience, there in that warm and sun-bright room where you were sitting across from her, and could allay any doubts: you were certainly awake, and the secure world was winking back at you, returning your gaze, just as it's doing now. So, there's really no way of knowing inside what frame you currently are found. Not that you can't build a persuasive case when you have more time to gather evidence, but that's all inference and there's no plumb-bob in the soul that infallibly points to the centre of being. This intricate map of all maps you've assembled so collaboratively, so painstakingly is bootstrapped out of some tiny seed of faith, and in the end weighs exactly as much as any shadow.