We especially liked (and concurred with) Hofstadter's theory that when two people love each other and closely share their hopes and aspirations over many years, a sort of mind meld takes place, where one sees through the eyes of the other, a condition that even transcends death. In Ton Beau De Marot, Hofstadter illustrates that theory with his own experiences and reflections after the death of his beloved wife, Carol.
In a later book, Hofstadter expresses his amazement that other scientists did not take on this premise, as if they considered it simply sentimental rather than what actually happens.
It doesn't happen to everyone, of course. Not everyone is capable. My posts on other Valentine Days (for instance, at this link) have usually been about the lack of genuine love in this materialistic American society.
There are individuals who carry an infectious sense of love and caring around with them. They seem always in a good mood, never a bad word to say. My own wife, spreading good cheer wherever she went, was that rare sort of person. This is my first Valentines Day since her death, a mere thirty days ago.
But she is still with me and with everyone who knew her, for to know her was to partake of that special sunshine which touched on the eternal.
As Hofstadter argued, love can be like a magic mind meld so that a part of her assumes a transformative place in my own mind. I look, I listen, and she sees and hears too. Seleta is still with me on this consciously spiritual level. She remains the very best part of me. Still here right now.
