I sit at the side of the bed and let it all sink in:
apparently, I have survived another night.
In the room, light is innocently trying to push
through the dark curtains over the window.
Like a child, it has things it wants to show me.
To the light, everything is a fresh revelation.
The body offers only token resistance as I stand
and move from one dreamland into another.
There is a sense that I have done this before,
that none of this is really new.
Every morning is a deja vu, but we all carry on, even
in our bewilderment, because what else is there to do?
If I pause to consider it, I am neither happy nor sad.
That is all added later, depending upon the ripening
of whatever causes and conditions may pertain.
I do not think this as a coherent thought.
I heard it once, and it seemed to make sense.
We want things to make sense, and eventually
maybe they will, but that is too much to ponder now.
Now the body is carrying itself into another room,
propelled by an energy for which I cannot account.
Even putting one foot in front of the other is a mystery,
please don’t ask me about quantum holograms yet.
How many dimensions have I visited since I said
“Goodnight”, rolled over, and fell asleep?
In the middle of the night I woke and went to the window.
How I managed to do this, nobody can really explain.
The world outside was trying to please me by keeping
quiet and not moving. Somehow it just knew.
Right then, so many truths were being exchanged
between the visible and the invisible, but silently.
I finally returned to bed satisfied, although
later I would not remember a single truth.
One might be crouching even now, just out of sight,
quietly waiting for me to look the other way.