Definitions by From Saint Agnes to Egypt
1400
My head was on the pillow and I counted the days I hadn’t seen you.
That day I thought, “Maybe this is only my path. If so, I have no right to involve anyone.”
In a moment, deep grief rushed in like a wave and pulled me away, as if into another world.
I was no longer in the bedroom. I found myself on a sloped stone street with old houses, heavy doors, and small windows.
I walked uphill as if in another body. I couldn’t see the sea, but I felt it close and knew where I was going.
At the top stood a two-story house with a few steps and a solid wooden door. Inside, a wooden staircase. Second floor, second door on the left.
A room with a large wooden chair in the center.
You were there, wearing a white shirt with wide sleeves.
I ran to you, laid my head on your chest, in your arms—boundless peace.
Suddenly I was pulled back.
My head was on the pillow, yet I still felt your chest.
I don’t know if it was a dream or something else, when imagination and reality dissolved.
I was no longer sad or longing.
Maybe I live my life in my sleep.
That day I thought, “Maybe this is only my path. If so, I have no right to involve anyone.”
In a moment, deep grief rushed in like a wave and pulled me away, as if into another world.
I was no longer in the bedroom. I found myself on a sloped stone street with old houses, heavy doors, and small windows.
I walked uphill as if in another body. I couldn’t see the sea, but I felt it close and knew where I was going.
At the top stood a two-story house with a few steps and a solid wooden door. Inside, a wooden staircase. Second floor, second door on the left.
A room with a large wooden chair in the center.
You were there, wearing a white shirt with wide sleeves.
I ran to you, laid my head on your chest, in your arms—boundless peace.
Suddenly I was pulled back.
My head was on the pillow, yet I still felt your chest.
I don’t know if it was a dream or something else, when imagination and reality dissolved.
I was no longer sad or longing.
Maybe I live my life in my sleep.
1400 by From Saint Agnes to Egypt February 8, 2026
The Light That Finds Us
Those early days of the journey,
when I had just made peace
with lucid dreams,
one night, after I realized
that in my dream
I had passed through a wall,
I rolled onto the branches of a pine tree,
and at the very last moment,
a cool, gentle breeze
held me between earth and sky.
On a quiet yet luminous night,
above scattered hills,
each cradling a small house with its light on,
it lifted me into flight.
A guitar was playing,
and a woman, with a voice like mine
but softer,
was humming a tender song
about a love that never became whole.
That day, as I flew above the unconscious,
I did not know
that the vow we had made
was remembered by the collective soul,
and that to heal its wounds
it would return to our love.
Now I know
that it always washes itself
in the love of lovers,
warms itself with their warm breaths,
and drinks from the light of hope
that springs from their hearts,
and comes alive again—
for peace,
for survival.
Even if we are born
a thousand times more,
it will find you and me again,
and in our unconscious
bind us together once more.
when I had just made peace
with lucid dreams,
one night, after I realized
that in my dream
I had passed through a wall,
I rolled onto the branches of a pine tree,
and at the very last moment,
a cool, gentle breeze
held me between earth and sky.
On a quiet yet luminous night,
above scattered hills,
each cradling a small house with its light on,
it lifted me into flight.
A guitar was playing,
and a woman, with a voice like mine
but softer,
was humming a tender song
about a love that never became whole.
That day, as I flew above the unconscious,
I did not know
that the vow we had made
was remembered by the collective soul,
and that to heal its wounds
it would return to our love.
Now I know
that it always washes itself
in the love of lovers,
warms itself with their warm breaths,
and drinks from the light of hope
that springs from their hearts,
and comes alive again—
for peace,
for survival.
Even if we are born
a thousand times more,
it will find you and me again,
and in our unconscious
bind us together once more.
The Light That Finds Us by From Saint Agnes to Egypt February 8, 2026
Collective Soul
Finds lovers
Every time, everywhere.
Their love
Feeds the collective soul,
Keeps it warm,
Heals it,
Nurtures it,
Supports its survival.
Oneness is what lovers experience.
Every time, everywhere.
Their love
Feeds the collective soul,
Keeps it warm,
Heals it,
Nurtures it,
Supports its survival.
Oneness is what lovers experience.
Collective Soul by From Saint Agnes to Egypt February 8, 2026
Woman
“I blessed you with love, so a single kiss could make you soar, and the gentle touch of a hand could bring you back to earth.”
“Put down your weapon; secret wars never truly end. Crown yourself with love, and let it grow into the wings of your flight.”
“Put down your weapon; secret wars never truly end. Crown yourself with love, and let it grow into the wings of your flight.”
Woman by From Saint Agnes to Egypt February 8, 2026
Wheat fields
I closed my eyes.
I found you at the door of a white house.
I knew it was a lucid dream.
You took my right hand.
We went inside.
There were different people in the house.
You would stop and talk to each of them,
but our hands never separated,
not even for a moment.
My eyes caught the carpeted stairs.
I was waiting for you to finish talking
so we could go upstairs.
But I woke up.
I was always curious about what was up there.
When I saw the first visions,
another door opened for me.
I sat in meditation,
hoping to see
what awaited at the top of the stairs.
I saw it.
There were more stairs,
suspended in space.
This time, I was alone.
You were at the top of the stairs,
standing beside a door.
I climbed those stairs a thousand times,
but before reaching the top,
I would fall asleep—
because climbing them was deeply soothing.
Finally,
one day,
I reached the top.
I had always thought
that if I opened the door,
a hidden green garden would be behind it.
The door opened.
It was a wheat field,
with a single tree.
maybe the nearest wheat fields
to the stone coastal village—
the same place
where we reached peace,
in each other’s arms.
I found you at the door of a white house.
I knew it was a lucid dream.
You took my right hand.
We went inside.
There were different people in the house.
You would stop and talk to each of them,
but our hands never separated,
not even for a moment.
My eyes caught the carpeted stairs.
I was waiting for you to finish talking
so we could go upstairs.
But I woke up.
I was always curious about what was up there.
When I saw the first visions,
another door opened for me.
I sat in meditation,
hoping to see
what awaited at the top of the stairs.
I saw it.
There were more stairs,
suspended in space.
This time, I was alone.
You were at the top of the stairs,
standing beside a door.
I climbed those stairs a thousand times,
but before reaching the top,
I would fall asleep—
because climbing them was deeply soothing.
Finally,
one day,
I reached the top.
I had always thought
that if I opened the door,
a hidden green garden would be behind it.
The door opened.
It was a wheat field,
with a single tree.
maybe the nearest wheat fields
to the stone coastal village—
the same place
where we reached peace,
in each other’s arms.
Wheat fields by From Saint Agnes to Egypt February 8, 2026
825
This was the first time
I saw you.
Staring at you,
someone whispered, “Here he is.”
My gaze became judgmental.
Do you remember?
A familiar ache rose inside me,
like a child waiting for someone who had promised to return,
longing through the quiet of too many hours.
A voice said, “Staring made him uncomfortable.”
I knew:
“Your spouse is watching; take your eyes away.”
I knew, but I could not.
At the same time, I felt powerless and helpless—yet you saved me.
You turned with your whole body, not just your head or your eyes.
“What can be done for you?”
That day in 825,
I had no idea
I was about to fall so completely in love with you.
I saw you.
Staring at you,
someone whispered, “Here he is.”
My gaze became judgmental.
Do you remember?
A familiar ache rose inside me,
like a child waiting for someone who had promised to return,
longing through the quiet of too many hours.
A voice said, “Staring made him uncomfortable.”
I knew:
“Your spouse is watching; take your eyes away.”
I knew, but I could not.
At the same time, I felt powerless and helpless—yet you saved me.
You turned with your whole body, not just your head or your eyes.
“What can be done for you?”
That day in 825,
I had no idea
I was about to fall so completely in love with you.
825 by From Saint Agnes to Egypt February 8, 2026