The Self Is Made Up of Time
He says, "I recall the scratching as making me want to take revenge, but the biting as making me want to take refuge."
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I say, "I want to know more about this. Let's talk about it when we get a chance?"
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Hibiscus writes, "I would like to be the softness of sleep, the warmth, the pleasure, that you crave."
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I reply, "You are. You certainly have been to me today and last night."
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Earlier, I wrote, "What am I crying about? How does time form a thin thread that protects me from the emptiness?"
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Hibiscus replied: "When you figure it out, I'd like to know. I'm on the verge of tears just reading it. For me I think it has a lot to do with my relationship to time, and to memories as well."
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I replied:
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Time. Moving quickly. Distraction. One thing after another. Anything but presence with the current moment. Because everything, the entire universe, is in that moment.
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But something is afraid of that.
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Afraid of breathing, afraid of breaking, afraid of losing one's identity. Ego has to move, move, move through time. Memories create the identity, the ego, the self-image. The self is made up of time. Without time there is no self.
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- Your Mistress, Concubine, Succubus & Submissive
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The following day I began a letter to Nelum:
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Nelum,
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My heart aches when I think of what could have been. My heart warms when I think of what was.
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If I could do it again, I'd do it just the same. I put my trust in you, gave you my authenticity. All that happened was an expression of my truth.
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If you don't believe me, then what point is there in writing this?
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- Nuria
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But then I didn't send it. There was no point.