Waking along a paved ribbon in a park, you are strolling on a shared path with the scene gently jiggling as it unfolds into your open gaze, trees, sky, grass, grey footway, when a bicyclist races past going in the opposite direction. You see in a flash only a helmeted head plugged with earphones and eyes slit against the wind, face rock-like against the raking afternoon light, and gone in an instant. That meditative face is taken to be the bearer of a consciousness turned inward, intensified and yet utterly incommensurate with your own, time, space, thought, experience compacted, alien. It is an encounter purified of all personal projections, pure objective event in which there seem to be two starkly distinguished consciousnesses in play, one stationary and the other passing through it like a comet. But in reality there is only one, the whole thing is 'constructed' within the field of your own awareness which effortlessly manufactures an objectification of itself via the idea of the other. There seem to be insides and outsides, but it is all one thing carrying with it whatever it is that makes the cut between them appear to be real. You are within but it is not a spatial within, not the within in the picture, the within of the picture, of all such pictures. It all happens so fast, the within is faster, more immediate, faster than any seeker who would look for it.