Certain words you hear or read seem to summon you back to a long forgotten scene where you are found in some eternal, mythic, or ever-early, world suspended at the edge of an irrevocable decision or realisation. If the language is markedly poetic, a criss-crossing of rhythmic, sonic and semantic ripples and reflections, this is only one more symptom of the archaic undivided matrix from which they have issued. Something similar occurs with certain passages in music, but this is not an essential component of beauty or sublimity, it is a rare and special subclass of the aesthetic and it probably dissolves on too close a scrutiny - hence it is pointless to offer examples. Phenomenologically the features of this are that there is a larger and more integral consciousness that lies behind but contiguous with your present state of self-reference, which appears to be no more than a pin-hole view by contrast. It is entirely possible that a number, even a great number, of diverse such pin-hole views are attached to the same living moment of this more intensive consciousness, without any of them carrying the least awareness of the others. The 'I' of that other consciousness is you, immediately recognised and with no possibility of alienation or need of explanation. It is more you that the you that was presumed up until a moment ago and that returns a moment later. So what you had been indefinitely locating of as yourself shows up as only a project, a placeholder for a deferred revelation, and you are ashamed of the vehemence with which you have laboured in its defense.