i can’t believe how quiet it is tonight. it’s almost startlingly quiet. except for the persistent ringing in my ears that began at a Wilco concert in Seattle in 1997 and never quite went away. someone at a meditation retreat told me that i am actually hearing the voices of angels. what a strange but nice thought, i thought. i did not know that american tibetan buddhists believed in angels.

the other dawn, i was startled out of my sleep by a voice, this subdued authoritarian male voice calling the name “Bob.” As if he were trying to waken me, which he succeeded in doing. But i thought i was dreaming. But then he repeated, “Bob,” more insistently and impatiently. I stood up from the bed and turned on the lights. i knew he was there but i could not see him. i was mildly freaked.

“Go away,” I cried. “Please. There’s no “Bob” in here. You’ve wandered into the wrong bedroom. Just go. Please.” No answer. “I’m not Bob.” But I think he was gone by then.