The 0th Bardo

Alan P. Scott - Fictions

in your dreams

Sometimes you awaken in the coldest, slowest portion of the night, your heart thudding faster than anything else in the world can move. A siren, a train, a passing bird, no different from a hundred others you've already slept through tonight, but your mind seizes on this one and you cannot get back to sleep.

You lie open-eyed in your bed, arms above your head, and stare into darkness. At this time, the gray time, before the slightest suggestion of dawn, your mind is least willing to lie to you. Phosphenes arrange themselves into accusing faces, and you remember the karma you gathered during your previous three lifetimes - bad and good and bad again - and you vow to do better, to turn over a new cliche and save yourself another rotation of the wheel, but it's quiet now and peaceful, and your resolve gets fuzzy, fades into static, blackens into sleep again, sleep that stays this time until it's shattered by your obnoxious alarm clock and you roll out of bed, vaguely aware that your mouth is dry and your bladder full and - what was that again?

A solemn image only, that dissipates in the steam of another cup.

Original content on this page © Alan P. Scott. All rights reserved.

Contact me: