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On the edge of my bed, his outline brightened by moonlight, his profile sharp and reassuring just as it was, then later at the market his round shoulder turning, hawk’s brow silent and still, his little cap tipped so familiarly, thereafter whenever I need him, Read the rest of this entry »
Life is the skirmish our dreams are meant to resolve. Lucid dreamers like Bernard don’t leave it to chance; they’ve trained themselves to take control in sleep. They lie down with a plan they repeat like a mantra. The first time he looks at his watch, Bernard sees numbers; the second time, numbers again. The third time, his watch is a coin on a strap and Bernard knows he’s dreaming and sets to work. Read the rest of this entry »
Children may dream, but they don’t dream as we do. They live in the angled brightness we only escape to in sleep. When they say: I had a dream, they might mean: Mommie told me. Read the rest of this entry »