Experience is something like a memorandum, it is an incomplete event noted as 'to be returned to', except that you never quite return to it even if you manage to recollect it in tranquility. Or you could say that it consists of notes for a poem that you occasionally elaborate but never finish writing. It is marked so that when it is regained you can see it face to face. So all experience takes place in the dimension of meaning, orthogonal to that of time, but only so that it illuminates that dimension without freely proceeding along it; the kind of self you are, the experiencing self, not belonging to such an adventure. With respect to time, to the endless flow of instances this condition is understood by way of possibility. Without being perfectly understood in this way the operators 'there exists' and 'for all' and their various modal derivatives are intrinsic conditions of all experience. This means that the nature of what you call being or consciousness is wedded to that of possible experience, or in semantic terms to the set or class or topos of possible experiences. But here is the strange thing: this set or class or topos makes no distinction of self and not self. A possible experience is as much mine or yours or his or her (or even its!) possible experience as any other. Possibility is blind to identity.