Lately, I've been thinking about sleep and the ways it is therapeutic. Five minutes is enough to reset something in my body. This morning I am wonderfully rested, but I have just come back from the Bighorn national forest. I got to see it again in the night, a herd of deer, a friend I am still friends with, a hut with a missing wall.
I stay in bed and read.
I read this, by Anne Carson, from "Beckett's Theory of Tragedy."
"O is shown moving to the window.
What a rustling what an evening. Oh little actor
(living moving mourning lamenting and howling incessantly)
time to fly back to where they keep your skin."
Bison coming to me in my sleep in the Bighorn national forest. In that hut with a missing wall, I was afraid they were next to my head that had no protection from the night. Dream from four years ago meet the dream I just had.