Here a question arises naturally, and it is important enough to stay with rather than pass over quickly. If the center cannot be observed directly — if it shifts the moment a shape is divided or opened — how can we claim to know it? If we only know what we see, and the center cannot be seen, does that mean it cannot be known?
The answer depends entirely on what we mean by the word see.
Seeing, in its deepest sense, is the act of accumulating light. And light, in its deepest sense, is knowledge. To shed light on something is simply to make it known. Once something is known, sight is gained. The equation is that simple, and that far-reaching.
We have made a mistake by reducing sight to the two physical eyes alone. The senses — the eyes, the ears, the nose, the mouth, the skin — are the instruments of sight. They are the agencies through which light is acquired. Each one is distinct, yet they belong to a single operation: the gathering of information. You can see through the ears when listening carefully in the dark. You can see through the nose when a scent carries memory into clarity. You squint your eyes when you cannot hear someone speaking from a distance — as though the eyes were reaching out to help where the ears fall short. The whole body perceives. Each sense is an instrument tuned to receive a different quality of light.