Awakening



Morning Light by Anna Razumovskaya

I didn't know I was asleep. My life felt dreamlike-fuzzy around the edges. I felt happy and content, but with a mildly acidic undertone of something more sad, or lonely, or fearful...something that could never quite be identified and was so subtle that it almost felt imagined.  Perhaps it was fear of more- more pain, more of the same, more of the past, more of something I couldn't handle, more sadness for what I would never have.  Perhaps it was fear of less-having less, being less, accepting less, owning less of myself.  It was all very wispy and quiet and when I sat still and listened, I couldn't hear it.  I couldn't hear anything but the whispers of other's dreams that I couldn't distinguish from my own.



As I start to wake, I lay lazy and content, ready to receive.   In the space where sleep and awake mingle, I am still in the mist, letting what is true be revealed to me with the sun. In the past, I would have strained to see with my eyes.  In my forcing, I would mistaken the grayness for something more concrete and I would have called it truth.  Now, I wait as the truth shines through the kaleidoscope of reality and wishfulness. I let the colors dance on my skin-I let them change me, warm me, brighten me. In the space between sleep and awake, I am peaceful and whole.  I can hear the whispers, and they are my own.