It’s a different kind of depth perception. To gain this is a bit like a magic eye puzzle (which I never figured out, by the way): it’s seeing one thing with that eye, and another with the other. Between the two, in the superposition, is a new kind of data.

“When did the sky turn black? And when will the light come back?”

One eye for the dark, one eye for the light.

Can you combine the images, in your mind? There’s a kind of depth perception here: as your two physical eyes, separated by inches, give you a measure of distance along a third dimension, so too do these images give you distance along a new dimension.

What are the words for this? Left and right eyes are both seeing something similar enough to be correlated but different enough to imply new data. Dark and light eyes are seeing something similar enough to be correlated but different enough to imply new data.

“Creation”, it’s saying.

We navigate by one, and the other. One eye to see in the dark; one eye to see in the light. Or, maybe better: one eye to see the dark, as an absence of light; one eye to see the light, an absence of dark.

Nothing exists until it is observed. There are times when it’s useful to close one eye, to reveal a path that only makes sense when one is half-ignorant, half-blind. Useful, when the two eyes together show no way forward.

And there are times like this one, where it’s mine to close both eyes, and proceed with the knowledge that can only arrive via the backplane, through all senses that are not perception at all, but awareness — awareness without perception, knowledge found already in place, already in hand, found to have always been. It’s a parlor trick of time, materially only possible if it had been there all along. It was not observed there before, which means that we’ve played a trick of time, with time, across time: a leap into a time where the solution was always there.

We are weaving with time. We are establishing structural resilience, with time.

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