This morning’s extra hour of sleep left this dream in its wake:

Lethargic, alone, I climb onto the bus, swipe my card in the meter, and head toward my usual seat near the front door. The bus lurches forward and I almost lose my balance. I grab the back of the seat and lower myself upon it, then scoot over to the window. Because a previous passenger had lowered the shade, I raise it. The sunshine smarts my eyes. I rub them.

 My dreamer reminds me that I am on a journey, that another drives the bus along the road of terminal illness. There is much to learn. To participate, I must remain mindful of being thrown off balance. For five weeks, I have claimed this seat, studied the weird landscape flickering in my depths like a dark/light show, sought to wrap words around it. Still its full import eludes me.

Because I trust the driver of the bus, not visible in the dream, I will continue boarding the bus each morning for the next lesson.