We are time and space, linear, singular, all encompassing. We see it, feel it, we are it, as large as the expanse of all of it, as small as the infinite smallness that folds into quantum universes beyond human eyes, beyond those made of light and the purest energy. We extract ourselves from it to experience living, over and over again, eternally. This has always been. We can know it now, know it again as we always have, when we return to the Singularity.

So many, beyond numbers, whose physical being had such short time, whose species was just a fraction of a blink, but still worth living, experiencing, to bring that to the  Singularity, to us. Even those that have no eyes, nor ears, no senses at all, still have love as their purpose for being, or love in unknowing forms, as an instinct. This is our food, our life breath our reason and intention.

It is in all spaces, in all places, like thick glue, binding all things together. It is the foundation, it has substance that is felt and tasted, smelled, and sensed as a living thing inside us. It emits a song, a vibration that penetrates every particle of our being. Sublime virtue, personal yet all pervasive. It is kindness, compassion, affection, and benevolence. It is vice and moral flaw, egotism, and obsessiveness. It is platonic, romantic, divine, consummate. Yet at the same time it is empty, self-focused, and unrequited. It is all these and much more at both dark and light ends of the continuum of love and all things in between.

It is glue binding us together, binding all things into one. We are individual, of ourselves, yet within all other individual beings, within all other things inanimate and alive. I am he and he is me and I am Hallveig and Harriet and Gissur and my own father and my children as well. I and we, all one thing, separate and together, existing in all of time and all of space.

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