Step into a large and empty and very dimly-lit theatre. You are not on stage but, initially, somewhere in the centre, a few dozen aisles from the front. You look towards the empty stage, there might be a darkly-patterned velvet curtain if you are asleep, or a very large cinema screen if you are dreaming or about to dream, or there might be a stage set if waking life is about to resume. You can feel aisle upon aisle stretching away behind you into a cool and perfect blackness into which you are subtly being pulled. The space behind you doesn't narrow but expands; it is immensely spacious yet weirdly intimate. You are no longer where you just were but are moving back and back into that sweet blackness as the screen and the front aisles grow smaller and smaller in the distance. You are like a giant eye, no not an eye, the retina of an eye, not even that, but the pure abyss of receptivity. You fill space, you are space. This is what witnessing would feel like if it felt like anything.