My sleep was full of the kind of dreams that one wakes with clinging to the edges of the mind.
I could feel the twisting and turning of my body in the night—and the beasts that waved their giant chests and the ones that demolished entire forests with a breath of fire are still vivid in my mind.
Sometimes we weren’t on land but under the sea and there were many-armed-and-legged creatures, doing their best to wrap their entire selves around my body to keep me submerged in their depths until the last breath fell from my chest.
In the middle of the fighting, soaked with blood and sweat and tears, out of nowhere Muhammad Ali appeared and he whispered the words of a fighter-with-heart in my ear and then faded away but his strength he left behind to hold me up.
I continued to fight, long and hard, and this morning I feel marked by the invisible scars that come from silent, nighttime wars.