The immanence of temporalisation gives an eminent reality to time, but it is a reality of bondage. When there is an intimation of freedom from time, of its ultimately illusory quality, such as in Proustian recollection, your sense is of regaining a truer reality, a native state outside of the dream of life. Time is what you are most immediately up against, you are in its grain in a way that feels imprisoning just because you know that it can be escaped, like the imposition of an idea. In a corresponding way the bondage of space is your subjection to the gaze of the other, or if you prefer, of the Other. In each case it is a mode of being  which is alien to consciousness. But you can do no more than imagine that these can be awoken from, just as every duration no matter how oppressive is already abolished in the present in which it terminates, and every externality is no more than its meaning, potentially realised in the only way possible which is in that same presence.