I was reading a review of Ian McEwan's new novel, "Saturday," and came across this: "he wanted to evoke that sort of paradise-on-earth feeling of total absorption when time just falls away...a complete evaporation of self-awareness. There ought to be a name for this. You can't really call it happiness, because at the time you're not even aware of it." It's odd, to strive (without striving) for a state where you are so 'in your body,' your body falls away. To so completely actualize yourself, that you totally lose yourself. Oh sweet paradox!