In the purest of love …

In the purest of love where there is neither time nor space, are there still words? Are there still things?

Is it our attachment to words and things that keeps us living with them? Are we afraid to let go of our attempt to validate the only certainty?

And if you and I could stand together and maintain our silence and detachment beneath the stars, deep in the forest, or on a mountain top, could we do it anywhere?

What would happen if we did it daily for 30 minutes? Would we know when the time was up?