I am enfolded in arms. The space is aching with tenderness, peace. No words are spoken. I feel my breath, warm against a beating heart. Time passes, not pushed or pulled. Muscles slowly give up their hold as sleep tightens its own embrace … small, gentle spasms of calm release. How is it that I remain wound in this strong embrace? The breath becomes long. It is given up to sleep. Still, there is no letting go.
When there are no dreams in sleep, is it my unconscious refusing to share? Unloved, ignored, stubbornly withholding its gifts. Well, have this gift. I bring the dreams to you. I can be cunning and beautiful, too.
I have already journeyed past. I have left many things behind. I have room now for more. Surprise. Like the light that travels from the sun and the stars, the thing you see before you is really just a memory.
No one knows. Phone rings. Appointments to keep. Faces. Papers. Motion. As if it’s real.
The beam is already shining, it’s traveling. You just can’t see it yet.