Hand Shook Again

It was a trip to the kitchen for a glass.  I bounded around the counter top and made my way to the cabinet up to the right of the sink.  Like any other time I swung open the cabinet door and eyed the glassware.  One of these tall glasses will do.  I filled it with water from the sink and then suddenly, inexplicably a force moved my hand. 

Stunned, I turned from the sink.  Something from beyond this world had taken hold of my hand and moved it against my will.  Was this really a ghost?  I’ve never had anything like this happen before.  Had something paranormal suddenly populated my home?  I walked away from the sink, frightened, as I considered my hand and the glass that it held. 

Then midway to the hall my hand shook again.  This time violently.  It was not something from inside my hand.  Nor was it anything I could see.  But undeniably, something was pulling at my hand, much harder this time.  I began to yell about it.  “Hey, what is this?”

And then, of course, it was clear.  I had been in the kitchen of my mind.  My daughter was pulling at my hand in the bed next to me.  I’d drifted off to sleep reading and she was trying to get my hand off the blanket so she could pull it over her shoulders. 

The real reality asserted itself quickly.  “OK, take the blanket.”  But the residue of my time in the “kitchen,” the surety of how it felt to have something completely abnormal happen, lingered strongly.  It was both exciting and terrifying to have that fresh, present, light sleep dream space be so oddly interrupted by the real world in a way that allowed the dream to continue for a while, and force me to reckon with something impossible.

And as I sat down at my computer, after leaving my young one to return to sleep, I tried to write about what had happened.