The twins have finally graduated to a full sized bed. They were happy being squished in a twin size, if only for the name, until they were in seventh grade. But now they can spread out. Though they are always touching. 

When the girls were very small one time they were tangled up on the couch, like a Gordian knot of limbs. Then one of them yelped.

"What happened?"

"I looked down and saw an arm and thought it was hers and bit it but it was mine," she sniffed. 

Their older sister burst out laughing. "Serves you right," she thought but did not voice. 

The appearance that we are separate from one another is convincing. A friend suggested that it is as if we are each a wave, all part of the same ocean with only the transitory illusion of separation. 

"That was a big breaker!" just as it washes back into the undertow.

A case could be made for intending harm to, or feeling competitive with someone who is wholly separate from us, like the annoying clerk behind the desk at the DMV, or the swimmer in the next lane. But if it is indeed a larger reality that we are all vessels receptive of God's ubiquitous love, biting someone else is as silly as trying to punch the ocean so that it will splash on a sunbather in Marseille.