We belong - for a while - to two worlds. One of these is the world about us, made up of the things that we see and hear and touch and taste and smell, and of similar things at present beyond the reach of our senses. I sit here at the table and look around the room. There are shelves of books, chairs, a case of drawers with a card catalog. Through the windows I see trees against the blue sky, the grass on the lawn below, the roof of a building a few rods away. I hear the rustle of leaves, sounds of men chiseling stone and driving nails, down the road a boy whistling. And, beyond all these sights and sounds, there are, I know, other sights and other sounds - fields in which birds are singing, the dull roar of great cities, broad rivers, the ocean with the everlasting thunder of its restless waves, and, far beyond, the sun, the moon, other planets, and distant stars.This is one world. And I belong to it. My body is one of the things that, together, make it up. My body is one of the objects in this room, along with the table, the chairs, and the books.