What occurs at the end of the narrative, then, is a final "mindless"
　　　　  union of the two into a whole -- not a whole where there are no
　　　　  longer protagonist and reader (for that would be to make an absolute
　　　　  distinction) but a dynamic one in which the two are
　　　　  "without-separation." In other words, the two are still individual,
　　　　  but their categorical individuality has been destabilized by the
　　　　  koan that is the play. Via this radically decentering force, they
　　　　  subsume their egos, their "I-ness," or their subjectivity; they are
　　　　  able to pass beyond individual consciousness to a state which
　　　　  precedes reflective consciousness, and in which the conceptual
　　　　  distinction between self and other cannot be made. They are
　　　　  therefore two-in-one and one-in-two.
　　　　  If we next expand the study beyond the confines of the internal
　　　　  narrative, the relationship of L and R to the listener and the
　　　　  reader can be described in similar manner. At first, what goes on on
　　　　  stage and what is taking place in the narrative appear to have
　　　　  nothing in common, but as the play progresses, these two individual
　　　　  entities as well conflow, growing to be as one. The narrative passes
　　　　  through the present moment on stage to its future, and stage and
　　　　  story achieve a dynamic, intersecting relational cohesion (though
　　　　  they are never simply identical). Similarly, the L and R pair also
　　　　  becomes one-in-two as they merge with the characters of the internal
　　　　  narrative and with each other. What is left is both utterly complex
　　　　  and "absurdly simple":(25) all the possible pairings of characters,
　　　　  relationships, and actions become a moving montage which, if we drew
　　　　  connecting lines between possibly linked characters, would have the
　　　　  complexity of a spider's web; yet if we step back from the
　　　　  perplexing picture, we can look at the "spider's web" of the play as
　　　　  a simple and beautiful whole. And, to carry the web analogy one step
　　　　  further, the whole is composed of indispensable and individual
　　　　  parts, yet each part is nothing without the whole to give it shape
　　　　  and function. Through their repeated ritual readings, the characters
　　　　  have learned a new way of being themselves and their world: "When
　　　　  the senses reawaken, words fill and flow, becoming so much more than
　　　　  the things signified."(26) And once this "reawakening" takes place,
　　　　  the world becomes "green again with wonder."(27) Without the need to
　　　　  connect causally any two points of time or space, each moment falls
　　　　  like the millet grains of Zeno's heap with which Hamm is so taken in