Hugs are needed, and time is an illusion.

Sometimes, the units we use to measure time and space recede into the background, so that time and space can become amorphous; unbound by law and order and free to move and to be moved at will.

I have had experiences where what "should" have taken x amount of time took very little time at all, and I knew then that time and space were merely illusions, and that we were put on this earth to be their masters.

Other times, time itself seems to be moving backwards. The glass of water I set down onto the table has left a trail of wet, one inch back from where I placed it, as though the oxygen molecules had begun to spin and vibrate in the opposite direction of forward-moving time, and that the glass, surrounded by these molecules and the backwards stories they have told it, recedes itself into the foreground, back from where it came, and only the condensation, knowing the truth of all things, leaves its message on the table like a coded language; a dot-dot-dot—dash—dash—dot-dot-dot cry for help.

Forgive me, dear readers, for these fanciful flights of fiction, if you’ve come here for a serious gulp of reality. Reality is neither my mood nor my mind at this late hour, though the eucalyptus mint cough lozenge which has become a crystallized sliver on the flat of my tongue reminds me that I am not fully recovered, and still have a full night of sleep before me, thank God.

Today was long, though not bad. And tomorrow, I suspect, will be longer. I had a brief talk with one of my dear coworkers who was so generous and sincere in her encouragement of me this afternoon, I became almost fully well and recovered from this cold, on the spot. And then I went to the market nearby and out of the corner of my eye, saw someone dancing near me. And when I looked over, it was someone I knew and who was dancing to tease me. And though I have only met him a few times, the two hugs he gave me also restored so much life back into my blood, I wished some doctor would write me a prescription for hugs and then send me to the hugs clinic, which would be mandatory for a day, with paid leave. And it also reminds me of this special young woman I know who is very talented with the medium of coffee, and who seems to be so pure hearted, that when she comes around to greet me and to give me a hug, it is like the very essence of love has taken me into its embrace—no agenda, only the warmth and the peace that hugs were invented to bestow.

I was thinking earlier about how many people struggle to remember other people’s names because we are too busy worrying about how we’re coming across to that new person, that our attention is all on the effect we are making and not on the actual moment of new acquaintanceship.

I think giving and receiving hugs are very much the same.

It occurred to me a few years back how difficult it was for me to really experience a hug because I was too concerned with how the other person was receiving my delivery. Maybe this is a particularly female point of view—wanting to be pleasing, especially to a man. So, naturally, I started doing an experiment where I would take a breath before the incoming hug, and then just…feel.

I learned that even hugs can become part of a practice of conscious awareness, much like walking along the beach or through the woods can be an exercise in moving meditation.

In my later 20s, I once wrote about the time a male friend of mine put his hand on my shoulder when I was going through a phase of great loneliness. The feeling of his hand being there felt like oxygen to the lungs, so much so that when he took his hand away, my mouth and my voice conspired without the knowledge of my head to produce the cry, “No!”

Quite embarrassing, that was, though I hadn’t thought of it in all these years until now, though that was back when I didn’t know what I know now about time and space.

And knowing what I know now, I will say my farewells to you and then take myself to bed where I will have a conversation with my God about where I am headed and how to turn x amount of time into no time at all.

’Til tomorrow, dear reader.