Every world is a sort of disclosing, a way of rendering itself intelligible. What is intelligibility but something that can be read into, read between, picked out and gathered together, what can be thought and made into word, spoken and accounted for. Any world, being finite and contingent, is the condition of our thinking and being thinkable, speaking and being spoken, gathering and being gathered.
The disclosure of this or that world is what emerges out of the background into the light, what things become intelligible in such light. The lightening itself, the clearing in which the world emerges from its ground, the earth, is the mystery. What storyteller is shedding this light on the world that has appeared? In what story have I become intelligible myself, such that I too am here, in this clearing of the world?