Existence is singular consciousness being. We could replace the word being with imagining. Singular consciousness imagining. Imagining multitudes. Multiverses of multitudes. It’s like a toy box of mind, except the beings in those multiverses are imagining each other at once. The toys and the toy box are intrinsically and inseparably relating.
The pseudoscience of how it works could go like this: there are only so many dimensions in any given universe that can be perceived as physical. Although potentially indicated by mathematics, the rest remain invisible, unexperienced as a physical reality. However, these dimensions can be experienced as states of mind and known in other imaginal ways. Through dreams that transcend personal mind, for example, or through hallucinogens, yoga, ritual, and mystical arts.
Because all is one—because the multiverse is living all at once—the content of all possible dimensions exists everywhere, in all universes, in imagination. Imagination is the toy box of consciousness, after all, and we are that. So we can experience all of it, conjure it, even if not physically step into dimensions that don’t support our physics.
This, of course, means that beings in universes with physics incompatible with ours can experience us as well. We are one another, fundamentally. All of us imagining each other. And all of us being imagined by the singular consciousness that is the root of us. The heart of us. Us as wholeness.
I-as-wholeness is its own reality. It’s the one in which you live in all cases, but rarely as. What happens when one lives in-and-as wholeness? What does playtime look like when, at once, the toys perceive themselves as themselves, as each other, as the toy box, and as the consciousness in which all of this plays?
What happens to the toys? What happens to the toy box?