Consciousness begets a navigable but wildly false center (the navigability is both virtual and actual though it feels mostly actual).
Language is more often than not ambiguous — though it feels accurate.
Our personal, emotional environment seems to be the world at any given time, but this is simply a trick, a cerebral phantasm — the world is untouched, unaffected and unrelated to our feelings.

1.
For a time we had a job as a lifeguard at a beach club. Daily, this situated us on a tall wooden seat in front of a vast water field whose terminus was the horizon — “horizon” really being the meeting of an imperceptible curve and the empty space of “the sky”. The fixity of our purpose-defined position combined with the limited nature of the human senses, drummed up quite an illusion of centrality.
(Consciousness always sits with its center in the foreground of a vague landscape. In similar fashion, our bodies are also always the center seat of any physical terrain — but ultimately neither topology has anything substantively comparable to the other. In both cases it is our consciousness that creates the propagative and illusory parallels. It is quite a knot to try and untie.)

2.
We used to work for an Interior Design firm. Presenting items (furniture, fabrics, sketches, etc.) to clients was a common occurrence. It was a tricky business as you were often not sure that clients were going to like what was being proposed. The principal designer (almost wholly unconsciously) had developed a manner of speaking which positioned any suggestion on a kind of pivot. If he was particularly unsure whether a client was going to like something (for our sake here let’s make it a chair) he would say, “in a weird way I think this chair is the best thing for the living room.” If the client responded unfavorably, our principal could say “yes, I know that’s what I meant by, in a weird way — I’ll have to find something similar but more appropriate.” Conversely, if the client responded favorably, he could simply say “I knew you were going to like it.”

This type of pivot and ambiguity is the basis for most interaction.

3.
In our high school years we lived in the deep suburbs (neither farms nor tall buildings, just houses as far as the eye could see). On many a Friday or Saturday evening it was common to meet up with friends at one of their houses. We would usually watch a movie, always horror. Sometimes though, there’d be a situation where the possibility of hooking up (or the like) would occur (by the way we write, it is likely obvious that this was seldom — but it did happen on occasion).
Not having a car or parents generally interested in picking us up, we walked home mostly. On nights where we had filled our head with gory, supernatural worst-case-scenarios, our walk home was full of nervous dread, each darkened driveway the possible concealment for some demon-possessed personage, as well, all passing cars seemed piloted by serial killers. However, on nights where something tender or romantic had happened the landscape of the walk home was completely different — things were possible, the future had illuminated prospects and even pleasure — dread never even entered our mind…
But the truth is, the landscape was the same on each night — it was only us who changed. That is, when we shift the world doesn’t shift with us — it only feels like it does.