In relation to the distinction of inside from outside, the movement within is a space-like one. However complete such an inwardising move is it fails on closer scrutiny to attain the inner heart of things. We may be gratified but not satisfied. To approach the inside of the inside is a time-like movement, but against the grain of time. It is an attempt to move upstream of the flowing. This may not be adequate either, adequate to answer to the sense of something lost, but at least it sets out a project, that is, it lights up a way forward in time. What is lost in time is not the past - the past consisted of moments just like this one, however innocently undergone by your younger self - but part of the structure of temporality itself. You could say that time is a continual casting out, a palpable exile. To live time in this way is to have lost a dimension or two, but not space-like or time-like. What other direction is there? Only withiness.