II

THE OBSERVER

To stop being seen — and begin to see.

For a long time, she believed the world existed before her: something to enter, something to understand, something whose rules she had to learn.

Then she stopped moving.

She looked again.

The closer she observed, the less certain everything became. One image contained another. Every eye opened onto a different reality. What appeared fixed changed according to where she stood—and who was looking.

Until the question was no longer:

What am I seeing?

but:

Who is the one who sees?

Somewhere between the image and the observer, the boundary began to disappear.

And for the first time, she was no longer only inside the world.

She was watching it.