It is as though the reset button was pressed this evening, or maybe sometime in the last 21 days. Sand in glass turned over.

I feel myself waking from a deep sleep, the slumber within midnight black coffin.

I was so tightly compressed and bound, oppression from him, from my own ego, patterns, thoughts, fears running wild like spooked horses, not in their beauty and power but bolting in the kind of frenzy that leaves one with lasting bruises, broken legs, unable to run.

I was only sleeping. I chose to sleep, to partake of the poppy and slumber into psychic nightmare so that I could dream the dream that teaches how hot the fire, yet wake, shake off the shackles, and feel my spirit begin to unfold. Octopus tentacles unraveling, uncurling, stretching towards expansion, feeling myself take fullness, and ever expanding the folds and pleated yards of fabric, vibrant in color, flowing, waving, moving towards a rhythmic dance of life.