About twelve, thirteen years ago I woke up in the middle of the night, rubbed my eyes, turned over, stretched out my right arm to grab my pillow and, instead, felt another hand, not my own, and I sure as hell knew that there hadn't been anybody else sleeping beside me when I crawled into bed, but there it was, the hand, and my fingers roamed downwards, against my will, and there was an arm attached to that hand, and I thought it was a dead body, was sure it was a dead body, until, suddenly, a strange but familiar tingling sensation emanated from this mysterious arm, transferring its energy into my own flesh, and I just about screamed before I realized that this energy was, in actuality, my energy, that this unknown arm was my arm, that my left arm was, in fact, asleep, and while it had felt like my left arm was align with my horizontal frame, that was a lie, a trick of the mind, because my left arm had actualy been lazily sprawled outwards, and now the feeling was coming back, not the gone-to-sleep feeling but the normal-arm feeling, and with it the realization there was only me in that bed, me and no corpse, and within moments the feeling was back, my arm was back, independent no more.
(Which made me kind of sad, because nobody likes to sleep alone.)
1 comment:
That's probably what happened. My conscience is always manifesting into reality. But I still haven't figured out the context of my reality...
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