I was woken in the early hours of this morning by a particularly intense dream, but, as is so often the case, the moment I regained my wakeful consciousness, all memory of the dream disappeared. And yet the intensity of the dream remained. And, quite unaccountably, some lines from T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, lines I don’t often think about consciously, were going around my head:
Burning burning burning burning
O Lord Thou pluckest me out
O Lord Thou pluckestburning
I wish I could remember what the hell it was I was dreaming about. It must have been fun.
The Argumentative Old Git 
Posted by SilverSeason on March 25, 2016 at 11:41 am
Is this the sciatica talking?
Posted by argumentativeoldgit on March 25, 2016 at 1:13 pm
Ha ha! I was flattering myself that this reveals some hidden depth in my unfathomable psyche, but you’re probably right – it’s only the sciatica!
All the best, Himadri
Posted by SilverSeason on March 25, 2016 at 1:46 pm
I have been there — listening to the sciatica. It can speak very loudly sometimes.