- Books, Literature, and Writing
A Poem That Cannot Be Written
I've been to a place in my dreams--I've met many and I've seen the One. The reality of these encounters escape with the morning light. Fragments of this realm are all that remain of the night. I try to reach back into the twilight and pull out the memory before it is gone, but I end up with only sensations, and out of context words that don't know where they belong. I want to write it down--I want to remember the journey into the light beyond the dark highway. I wake up, remember, and then forget, and my attempts to describe the journey feel sideways. It seems like there is a part of me that extends beyond me and is free to travel during the hours of the night. It seems like there is a part of me that is not bound to one location, but like the speed of light, during slumber takes flight. A dream that is real—that makes what is real feel like a dream. A place that makes this place seem different than it seems. An experience that awakens the parts of my being that I've yet to discover. An encounter that leaves me thirsting for more—like a life I've been living under cover. A veil that is removed while I sleep—a place that is as a divine secret that I keep. It is not understood—it cannot be described well. This is my attempt to find words that can tell. This is the poem that I write in the night, a song, and a heavenly sound, but in the daylight hours cannot be written, is elusive, and has yet to be found.