I woke up in the same bed.  The same bed in the same room.  The same room in this light that never changes.  The same light on my sheets covering my body.  My body that I can’t move, and all of this over and over again.

I would be lying if i said that I wasn’t disappointed when i woke up in the same place that I have been for so long.  To find that nothing had changed.  Finding myself still here, still in this room and this bed.  Seeing the same light and the same door.  And still not able to move.  But at the same time, i feel so much more free. Something has changed, the air seems different.  Like i have figured out a puzzle, and even with the pieces still on the table, i know where they go.  I have to put everything together still, put the frames around all the edges of the broken dreams i keep having.

I dreamt last night of the fields of clover again.  Fields of green spreading around me forever, and the smell of broken clover under my feet.  I remember seeing the flowers showing here and there through the fields, but the most powerful feeling was the noise.  The sound was focused so clearly, i could hear each tiny change in direction and pitch.  It was the bees.  So many bees flying through the clover.  Landing on the flowers, and flying again.  I could hear each bee individually and also together.

They sounded like a blanket of noise, something with almost a weight to them.  It came on each side, but changed from moment to moment.  Like a silver field of sound, the weight shifted as the insects moved through the air around me and as they landed on the flowers.  It was all this sound of silver and i had no idea that so many shades of that color existed.

It was a dream of peace and quiet.  I haven’t had such a peaceful dream in such a long time that I can still feel it echoing today in my mind, and it brings a stillness to my thoughts.  It is for sure a piece of the puzzle i am putting together.  Something that will help me find why I am here, and where I need to go.  How i can fix this body i am in and get it moving again.  I lay here sometimes in this bed that I can’t move from, and cast my eyes over the room.

I can feel in my mind the way the doorknob would feel under my hand.  How the metal would be cool against the skin of my palm.  I don’t know what my hands look like.  I can’t remember what my body even looks like at this point.  I know that I have been here for a long time, and haven’t moved in a long time, but that seems odd.  Shouldn’t I remember something like that?  Something as simple as what my hands look like?  How can i not remember something like that.