Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Knees Drawn Up

"I turn in my sleep and draw up my knees except that there is no I at this moment but just my knees which draw up themselves by some complex autonomy of bones, tendons, muscles, like an empty self-service elevator working off calls from floor to floor after closing time. And with my knees drawn up, I dream I am sitting down. I am sitting on a stool at a bar, and my glass has left a wet ring on the wooden counter-top. With my finger, I start to move the wet around. I move it this way and that way with nothing much on my dream of a mind. And then on the smooth counter of the bar I write a name. When I have finished writing it, I start to weep, and the tears wake me up. I cannot remember the name I wrote, but I know that it was a name that I would be willing to die for. Maybe it was the secret name of God or the secret name of the world. Maybe it was my own secret name. The dream is only a dream, but the tears are exceedingly real" (Buechner).

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