You can and do know that something in experience is a representation by parallax; there is an inner movement of point of view, a sort of cognitive saccade, for which the object changes at its margins. What's more the point of view itself is a representation by this test. What is is and is not a representation and therefore cannot be represented. Because you can know representation as such there is a subtle intimation of the direction of the real. You can't give it any sort of name, but there comes to be a sweetness associated with it which draws you right out of yourself.