Echoing Einstein and Rumi, probably simultaneously all and none.
If you’re ever on a beach and you spot someone frantically running about with a bucket full of water proclaiming they’ve bagged the ocean entirely (or something like that), laugh at them, you have a right, THE right, they’re crazy, laugh at them. Wording that better- laugh at them, you have a right to laugh at yourself. Because they Are, and you Are, and they are reflection: of you, of you as you, of you as they, and they (and you) of the bucket and what’s in it; and what’s in it is the ocean (entirely), water, this. Still, laugh, hysterically if you can, it’s the only thing to do (Hafiz said that).
Personally, I don’t like the whole “that’s deep” phrase; everything’s deep, knee-deep (in saying this, I find myself somewhat perched on Wittgenstein’s shoulder). Everything’s there, all the time, at all times. The water’s not hiding, it’ll never get over your head, it’s just murky (and, I’m not being just poetic [or something like that] when I say this).
Whether what we sense of this world
is the what of this world only, or the what
of which of several possible worlds
—which what?—something of what we sense
may be true, may be the world, what it is, what we sense.
For the rest, a truce is possible, the tolerance
of travelers, eating foreign foods, trying words
that twist the tongue, to feel that time and place,
not thinking that this is the real world.
Conceded, that all the clocks tell local time;
conceded, that “here” is anywhere we bound
and fill a space; conceded, we make a world:
is something caught there, contained there,
something real, something which we can sense?
Once in a city blocked and filled, I saw
the light lie in the deep chasm of a street,
palpable and blue, as though it had drifted in
from say, the sea, a purity of space.
// Metonymy as an Approach to a Real World, by William Bronk