First, Its strange to find that some other has experienced this 'utter terror' upon waking. as I always thought it just one more in the mess of odd inexplicables intrinsic to this body that is me. And though small references to it have appeared in my writing and often even the sense of awe in it's mysterious nature of occurrence, I have never found any insight or puzzled a great deal over it.. instead chalking it up with my idiosyncratic relationship to sleep.
There are some days when I feel I have never awaken and fully come to my senses, instead wandering through a world riddled with incomprehensible wonders and chance meetings with somnus, trap-door double entandres and endlessly looping dialogue with self, a la finnagins wake.
These days and their twofold juxtapositions, frenetic byways, waypoints, touchstones, encrusted like barnacles at the throat of god. 'the world is a circular desert; heaven is closed, and he'll is empty.' At the heart of all passions and all our loves there stems Language, like chancres, like ulcers, like barnacles, like crill sequestered in the jaw of a great whale, like time.
I don't know what the sun means to me or to you, and what the word god was ever supposed to really mean I am kaput. But your experience sounds to me like a gift and a pleasure and it is not mine to measure or even comprehend, and possibly not for you to make comprehensible either. But rather loved in terms of the languages homogenous to the rhythms of the sacrum, the cranium, and your own heartbeat.