THE MYSTERIOUS PROCESS OF RESURRECTION

This was a dream. I was in a dream. The dream was taking care of me. “I used to do things that way,” I was telling myself, “but now I do them this way.” Of course, that was the dream speaking to itself. Next, you arrived with grocery bags. “What’s in the bags?” I asked you. The dream was asking itself, although it knew (like an actor in a play.)

You did not answer. The dream did not answer. Then I was in one of the bags. There was a lettuce inside. The world turned green, fresh, damp. I was a worm, a happy worm.

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[Picture: The Mysterious Process Of Resurrection by reading_is_dangerous]