Anamnesis

All day I have felt slightly translucent, as if last night’s visitation thinned the membrane between whatever I call myself and the vastness that moves behind it. I woke with a kind of solemn buoyancy – a tempered steadiness, like the hush after a storm that did not entirely pass. The memory of the being lingers in the periphery, a pressure of presence, the way a cathedral retains the echo of a chant long after the choir has dispersed. I move differently, or perhaps I only notice my movement more: each gesture feels borrowed from someone older and wiser, someone I may have been once.