Waiting here in the kitchen way past my bedtime for the dryer to give up my giant comfy comforter. I thought it was all ready to put on my bed, but the damn thing was still wet.
Listening to the turning over and over of the aparatus that is rolling it around in it's heat, and imagining it's warmth around me, and how my body will start to relax into itself, retreating from the outer world, lulled by the various quiet night sounds I hardly notice most of the time. And I will draw the shades of my eyelids closed and will no longer restrain the relocation of my consciousness into the other place, where "I" is swallowed into the deeper parts, inside, into the wellspring of being, to the source of the all, where I will absorb glimpses, vague pieces of images of my truest form, in a myriad of reflections that appear in countless little pools.