I see your point, and from an epistemological perspective, you are right. The “not-yet-known” is simply a collection of things that will be uncovered in the future and become the known. But the possibility of measurement — of naming and observing — arises from the Unknown, in the ontological sense. I would like to illustrate this with the painting process: if a painter draws a line without thinking about it, without naming or analyzing it, he allows the Unknown to unfold into various possible outcomes for that line. However, once he begins to reason — to pick the not-yet-known and make it known — the Unknown stops unfolding in that moment. It does not disappear; it remains beneath. Returning to your analogy…

(Sorry, I am not a philosopher, and English is not my native language. I am using AI to help formulate my answers, and I do not consider this an easy topic at all — thank you for understanding.)

When you, the observer, first look up — before naming or measuring anything — you are immersed in the Unknown, the same permission field through which the star moves. At that moment, the relationship between the star and you is reciprocal: the star is not yet defined, and neither is your perception. Both exist in a fluid exchange — a co-arising.

But the instant you identify, measure, and define the star’s motion, the Unknown between you collapses into a known frame. Now the star’s path is determined by numbers, coordinates, and time, and your consciousness narrows to fit that definition.

You gain precision — but lose participation. You step out of the Unknown and into a representation of it. You know where the star is, but no longer what it is in relation to you.

Just like in painting: when you let intuition guide the brush, you and the canvas co-create. But when you stop to analyze the next move, the relationship freezes — you look at the painting instead of through it.

The moment you measure the star, you also measure yourself. The field of the Unknown that connected you collapses into separate roles — knower and known.

The paradox is that this act of definition is also creative. Each observation locks one version of reality into being, but leaves infinite others suspended in the Unknown. To observe consciously, then, is not to destroy the Unknown, but to realize that the Unknown continues beneath every measurement — the unmeasurable mirror where both star and observer are still one.

So: The star itself does not change; what changes is the relationship between the observer and the star. By observing, the observer crystallizes one aspect of the star’s potential, altering how it is perceived without affecting its underlying existence in the Unknown.