This is utter nonsense, no doubt about that, but it was the most comforting experience of defamiliarization, so intense and grounded in the small "moments of conciousness" of objects; their existence outside of our experience of them (and Woolf's explanation of phenomenology in To the Lighthouse: "Think of a kitchen table, when you're not there").
Dunno, I might just be going insane, liking this as much as I did. But anyways, I will refer to Stein's technique in this book from now on as lesbian bracketing.