I still sometimes dream, occasionally in the most intense and brilliant shades of blue, of a gaping crevice that I fall into each time, and a sense of panic at falling yet again.
Each time I am haunted, on awakening, by a sense of meanings just withheld, and by a profound nostalgic melancholy.
why should this dead loop of memory, creeping up only in these few days, be so charged with potency in my unconscious?
Why should I be so afraid, so troubled by the waking moments that sleeping moments are so hard to come by?
I think I have forgotten thankfulness in this season. I think I am struggling with blankets of uncertainty and fear.
Oh Lord, speak to this weary heart.