There is an assumption which is something like the idea that you can discover your assumptions and then perform a certain manoeuver which puts them out of play while still keeping them in place, or in other words that you can pay attention to what you've assumed until you can see that it is contingent. As if you can keep climbing on the back of your own errors. But it seems as if you've made it too easy, assuming that you can discover what you've assumed, that you are the sort of mind to which it can be exposed, as if that is what a mind is, something that can always take a hint. And once that's done there's the idea that your little manoeuver has anything to do with what you might have glimpsed. The whole thing is disquieting, it is just the sort of thing that is a fatal error, but you don't know for sure that that's what it is. You can only go on, as if you had no doubts, as if you trusted that everything doubtful would result in a doubt, and that's just the sort of thing you can never know. But if you are blind you are willfully blind and that doesn't make you any less blind. Stumbling around you are bound to fall into a ditch, and don't you hope that lying there with a broken head you might just, once and for all, see the stars.