There is a period of time between sleeping and waking when the mind seems undecided as to which is which. On a normal morning, on a normal day the blurred line of reality is of no more concern than a misplaced comma leading to a momentary misinterpretation of a sentence.
But on those mornings when the figures from a lingering nightmare ride on the last vestiges of sleep, that small disorientation grows into a vast wasteland needing to be crossed. There is a fear that to not move fully into the waking world will lead to a permanent haunting by the malformed creatures of dark dreams.
In the struggle to overcome the lethargy that pulls like mental quicksand, bedsheets entangle our legs, sweat dampens our pillows, and surging blood echoes in our ears.
I was caught in just such a struggle the other morning and found myself wondering.... What if I manage to sit up in bed, swing my legs over the edge of the mattress, and find nothing solid beneath my feet?
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