I knew how I wanted to begin this morning…


Twisting around in my sheets and blankets I woke writhing as a whale beached from a sea of dreams.




My dreams last night do not impede upon my thoughts of day, and yet at waking time and another time before the alarm I awoke with
the strangest sensation. A sensation without identity. I could not place where I was. And the Who of myself, the mental mirror and voice that
I am ninety-five percent of the day must have continued to sleep, because I was someone somewhere. Not Stacie the (fill in the blank) not fat not skinny not of emotions, just I. How do we become I. You are I, and I am I.
Practically everyone is I, when they are simply I and simply alone.

The I gave into sleep and simply pulled the blankets of here around Iself and drifted back into some semblance of placeless sleep. Tread lightly, for sometimes the psyche sleeps, and the id is a sated watchdog.

‘night

Stacie