Almost touched it

It was so brief, I nearly missed it entirely. Glance affectionately upon a dear image and a subtle sensation wafted through me. I became transfixed in its wake and it crystalised as certainty. Usually smooth and seamless, the overlapping plates of consciousness reconfigured at the very same time I looked up, exposing for a timeless moment a glimpse beyond.

"I am you. You are me."

So simple and uninflected, it came to me in exactly those words yet wasn't volitional. It flew straight to the heart of a ping I've had many times before; harking back to the original waking dream about the One I can't seem to recall I am.

Thoughts yet again about this term, "me". We all use it to refer to our conventional selves in the singular, but nobody seems at all perturbed about the unlikelihood of us all being "I" and "me," and yet still the parallel, isolated individuals we feel most comfortably terrified in supposing we are.

It was so close I nearly touched it. I couldn't stop myself mentally clutching at it, though, so it naturally dissolved. But not before warming me with its trailing edge of love and beauty; the simple, elegant truth of One, another clue lying naked before me, like the dream revealed to me once and which continues to tap at the window to this consciousness, even years later.

At this moment I feel the veil, microns thin, separating the me riding this fleshy sack, tapping away on this notebook, from the me, industriously playing with her new mobile phone across the bed and clinically skeptical about both my lightbulb sensations and the possibility of bumping uglies with the edge of the universe.

While I do wish to journal it, I choose not to force it...so to bed.