Is it no more than a thought experiment to conceive what you call past and future as merely certain subvarieties within a vast space of non-present being? So far as you believe in experience, in lived experience you are a stranger to this space having only ventured something like a temporal rope-bridge into it and perhaps some near-present settlements of dream and imagination. You might think of it as imaginary space, but what you call imagination is only born within it out of your playful and desperate attachment to Kantian categories of ordered appearance, as it that were the only kind of place where 'you' could live. There is something so lovable about this space that, as much as you might fear it, you wish to dissolve into it.