Tonight, I awoke and lay in bed in the darkness with a delicious expectant feeling, as if the happy memories of a thousand lifetimes flirted at the edges of my mind. It was a wonderful, mysterious longing, wholly devoid of any melancholy, full of blissful expectation. Not just a feeling, but an abstract vision within my mind implying space, place and experience.
I closed my eyes and tried to be still, to hold at bay the mundane wakeful thoughts that I knew would chase this apprehension away. It flitted at the edge of my thoughts and emotions before finally being replaced with a curious, questioning calm.
I have experienced this several times before. It was like the unfocused memory of a dream that was far more real than the reality into which I was again awakening. But I knew without doubt that it was not the memory of a pleasant dream. It was, in fact, the opposite: an awakening into some truth about reality that I could only remember as a vague feeling in that state of consciousness that lies towards the end of that short period that lies just between waking and sleeping.
This experience (I can think of no better word for it) was the lingering presence of something hidden within me that holds the answer to everything in this life, or something that makes all our questions irrelevant. If it can be called an answer, it is one without words. And so, even this vague intimation of "the answer", expressed with words, can only yield this unsatisfactory recollection. As soon as I got out of bed and began writing, I could feel the words and myself already getting in the way.
Perhaps, I have tried too hard. Perhaps I should only say:
"My friends, do not let your hearts be troubled and do not despair...
Something wonderful is coming."