Letters to my Son (excerpt)

You made noises in your sleep, and they indicated you were having a nightmare. So I rubbed your back, knowing that it might wake you and make for a long night, believing that just standing there would be some type of cosmic dereliction of duty. And this is what men of science can’t understand, that reason was made to be dismissed. Humanity wants to collapse just to feel alive, just to feel love and give love and be known to the universe. You’re only one and a half years, my son. What forms could the dark princes of Slumberland possibly dress up as? If they could just see me hovering above you in the faint morning light, they would fear you. Phantoms of our psyche fear only those who can call them by name.

by Marc Alexander Valle