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Rosalind Heywood – The Infinite Hive

One hot night my husband was peacefully sleeping while I wriggled, restless and wide awake, at his side in the great carved bed. At last the excessive peace became unbearable. 'I can't stand it,' I thought, 'I shall wake him up to make love to me.'

Before I could carry out this egoistic idea I did something very odd - I split in two. One Me in its pink nightie continued to toss self-centredly against the embroidered pillows, but another, clad in a long, very white, hooded garment, was now standing, calm, immobile and impersonally outward-looking, at the foot of the bed. This White Me seemed just as actual as Pink Me and I was equally conscious in both places at the same time.

I vividly remember myself as White Me looking down and observing the carved end of the bed in front of me and also thinking what a silly fool Pink Me looked, tossing in that petulant way against the pillows. 'You're behaving disgracefully,' said White Me to Pink Me with cold contempt. Don't be so selfish, you know he's dog-tired.'

Pink Me was a totally self-regarding little animal, entirely composed of 'appetites', and she cared not at all whether her unfortunate husband was tired or not. 'I shall do what I like,' she retorted furiously 'and you can't stop me, you pious white prig!' She was particularly furious because she knew very well that White Me was the stronger and could stop her.

A moment or two later - I felt no transition - White Me was once more imprisoned with Pink Me in one body, and there they have dwelt as oil and water ever since.