“Every once in awhile, if you’re like me, you have a dream that wakes you up. Sometimes it’s a bad dream–a dream in which the shadows become so menacing  that your heart skips a beat and you come awake to the knowledge that not even the actual darkness of night is as fearsome as the dreamed darkness, not even the shadows without as formidable as the shadows within. Sometimes it’s a sad dream–a dream sad enough to bring real tears to your sleeping eyes, so that it’s your tears you wake up by, wake up to. Or again, if you’re like me, there are dreams that take a turn so absurd that you wake up laughing–as if you need to be awake to savor the full richness of the comedy. Rarest of all is the dream that wakes you with what I can only call its truth.

“The path of your dream winds this way, now that–one scene fades into another, people come and go the way they do in dreams–and then suddenly, deep out of wherever it is dreams come from, something rises up that shakes you to your foundations. The mystery of the dream suddenly lifts like fog, and for an instant it is as if you glimpse a truth truer than any you knew that you knew, if only a truth about yourself. It is too much truth for the dream to hold, anyway, and the dream breaks.”

Frederick Buechner,  “A Room Called Remember” in Secrets in the Dark: A Life in Sermons, © 2006 Harper Collins, New York, NY