Love is an idea; it is not real. Nothing we think orfeel--especially feel--is real.Only the moment is real. The now. The incident and the event are re...l,but only as long as they happen, for memories, also, are unreal.Very well. Let me explain. Perhaps an example will help. My breasts arereal when their weight is in my hands--or yours. They have density, then;they are tangible; they are measurable. Unmistakably, they haveexistence. But, after the moment, when they are no longer held, they. Almost if by magic the door opened immediately. A tall man standing right by the doorway requested his name and purpose. ‘May I ask of who you are, and what you serve as you come here?’ Brushing off his jacket, he answered, ‘I must have the wrong home. I’m looking for… uh.. I don’t know them well. But they work at Mons Publishing Office.’ The man, looking as if a servant, grinned, saying politely, ‘Ah! You must be Silas. Yes, Mistress Flora told me to welcome you at the door. Come in, if you. More

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