We are each having our own experience. The windows sometimes open between. We peer in. We see some strangeness. Perhaps some attraction. But we have our own experience as benchmark. We turn away and the window closes.
Along the way, a bit further we wonder, “How did that guy come to believe in Unicorns anyhow? And why don’t I? And why did he frown when I told my little joke? And who am I? And do we get out of here alive?”.
Or perhaps we never get that far. Evidently it is now known that consciousness is everywhere but many of us are not aware of that. Some do not even know how to look inside, believing the process is something like a debate.
The world keeps turning. Seems sometimes a waste.
We are each having our own experience. Art is the claiming of one’s own experience as divine.