You don't exist in the letters or even words of experience, you only begin to be yourself in the paragraphs and are lost again in the chapters. And in these passages that are built to your size you can find also yourself on the outside as much as on the inside. Experience can open up to receive you or can tease you with an inaccessibility, an irritating shift in phase with which you cannot align. Mood being a complex vibrational pattern that can only arise in the present, so that lived time is not a neutral medium but is integral to its geometry. Nothing can be felt without this opening to the strange abyss of lived time.