I awakened after dreaming that I was in love.

In the dream my self expanded and shone with an incandescent light. It was as though I could embrace the world, complete and without barriers.

I felt sure I would write about the dream. I was filled with a sort of messianic, proselytizing fervor. Knew the dream to be an overwhelming wonder, a mystery of potent purity to be revealed, shared with all.

But no... writing, talking about dreams isn't the same as dreaming. The dream resists. It doesn't want or need to come into the arena.

The dream abides in its own land, entire and sufficient.

7/28/2021