Posture, the angle of light, intermittent shadows from a block of wall or a window, a redolent scent, an abrupt sound, a profound relaxation and lack of anticipation — all these things may plunge consciousness into a reverie that is so irresistibly familiar that one does not know where one is, for that moment, anyway. However familiar the moment, achingly so, we grasp at the evanescence of time and memory. The moment, like all moments, is fast gone, but leaves a lingering sense of mystery. The mind contrives the continuity of time and space that we take for granted. This moment, this space. Next moment, this space. And so forth. But once in a while, that continuity breaks down, like a veil, though it is too unexpected for us to appreciate. In that moment, the solitude that dogs us dissolves, and the connection of moment to moment — time — reaches beyond this space and that space. For a moment, we sense that everything is one.