“You kissed me beside a pond.”
“Ten thousand years ago.”
“It’s still happening.”
Two longtime friends and ex-lovers share this tenderness in Michael Cunningham’s novel The Hours. It points to this vision of time in which every moment is a part of every other moment, in which each point in time forever echoes within every other point in time.
“…[This] moment is connected to the infinite future. …That’s a much richer moment. It relates to what we call in Buddhist philosophy and psychology non-dualist or non-duality where each moment is of course, contained like a hologram. Each moment contains all the other moments infinitely. But also each future moment contains this moment and all the past moments…”
I think back to a moment of brief reprieve within a convulsive break-up: Partly from a place of grief and partly…
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