Nothing is for the 1st person as it is for the 3rd. It isn’t that they live in different worlds but rather in very different places in the same world. This one is permanently established at the unique, still Centre of all things, while that one moves around outside and is subject to all the troubles and trials of that well-ordered but dangerous region. A glance out at my world is enough to show how wonderfully it is organized around this Centre. Wherever I go and however fast I go there, I never leave this Place: in fact, it’s the world that is always on the move and readjusting itself around me—I just stay put and let it sort itself out. If a crowd of men are to be admitted to my presence, their bodies shrink to the size of toy soldiers, or even smaller, till all are got in. All roads widen specially to take me, closing in again behind; where I am odourless flowers pour out scent, dull landscapes glitter with the brightest colours, the spark kindles a great fire, the silent world breaks out into singing. And if it is sun and mountains and meadows and flowers I am to enjoy all at once, then each leaves room for the others: the sun is no bigger than the flower, or the mountain than the meadow. Objects behave modestly before me: nothing very large or very numerous or very complicated is allowed. Sun and moon and stars, even the galaxies, rotate about this Centre; and so do all terrestrial things, though more erratically. They know their place and have a healthy respect for mine: if they come too near, that’s the end of them.