It took me a second to remember who I was. I did not know who I was. All I had was that feeling. It is always a certain kind of feeling, almost an aliveness before I wake. It is as if my body were an outline of dots that filled in with sensations, thoughts, feelings. Gradually, it solidified. It became an envelope that contained my impressions of things, such that I could feel my own body’s warmth wrapped in the soft touching of the covers. Then comes the moment when an intensity of light flashes, against my eyes, which are still closed. Perhaps it is light coming in from the window, perhaps it is my mother who has flicked on the switch. All I know is I am taken away from the reprieve granted by the dust of black sleep. But even as I am returning, my hands are not my own. Involuntarily, they rush up to my eyes, to shield them, as if the light that had been entering were the eternal light of truth.