There is only experience and experience is made entirely out of meaning. You yourself are a meaning and are not the source of meaning; there is a single sphere of meaning, thus a single experience. You are a localisation of meanings, like a collection of books borrowed from a library. There is nothing special or unusual about this, it is simply the way that experience appears to perform itself relative to any such localisation. Everything that goes into your experience at each moment is an idea belonging to the sphere of ideas, there is nobody to own it. At most it is performed, instanced, given a fate. You are the fatality of the ideas in each instant of your life.