I have had communication from Anne today. She wants to contribute a new diary. Here it is:
I have been watching time slide by. I realized that I could see it. How to say this, though? Language is a memory for me now. Life and language. I remember Whitley. I see him.
Here is what I have come to about people and time: you live in three dimensions because you cannot see time. In this state that I am in, I can see time. I see the reason for the universe, why it came about and why it is so joyous—why it is made of laughter (which we are meant to forget in life—me, too!) It is because there was a certain sort of disconnect—a surprise—that woke everybody up.
The physical world flowed out of that. It is a long journey into balance.
But from outside of time, it looks like a sort of burp in consciousness. I can hear Whitley’s mind as he struggles along. If I want to, I can hear anybody. I can see the crowds of wanderers. Many who die stay in time. We call to them but they rarely hear us.
Whitley begs me not to leave him behind, and it’s hard, frankly. It’s harder than I thought it would be. Did you ever see the play “Our Town?” We are sort of like the dead in that play, watching quietly. But if you turn around, it’s not like that play at all. You understand at once that everything is conscious, everything is alive, the stars, all of it, and nothing is forgotten, nobody is forgotten.
It’s pretty wonderful.
From Whitley: I ask her, is this me or you? She replies, It’s me, damnit! I’ve been trying to get you to do this for days!
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