Aisling an-raoir

As I was going off to sleep two nights ago, I was drifting in that in-between place during which I usually note the onset of dreams, when I became aware of a face looking at me. It was a man’s face, heavily bearded and massive. I would have said somewhere in his forties or fifties and effusing power. I did not see him well or clearly, but in small radiant flashes, as though a weak but transcendent light bulb were swinging in the total darkness of a cave. His brows were heavy and thickly grown with hair, such that his eyes remained in total darkness, so much so that I could not tell if he had the use of both eyes — for the thought immediately occurred to me on seeing this imposing and stern visage that I saw the face of Yggr himself. I must emphasize, however, that this was no photograph or static image, for he moved under the light. At one point he seemed to discern my thoughts and grinned beneath his thick moustache, which was long enough to completely curve down over his upper lip and concealed even part of his lower lip. There was little enough of humor in his face, though some potential for affection was there, and I could hardly imagine that face laughing or registering some informal silliness. The living light played across his features in never the same way and before long faded into the simple darkness of my eyes as my mind became more grasping of who it was and what it might mean — almost like it was distracting itself by its own action.

… just thought I would get this down before the occurrence vanished into the vagaries of my own recollections.

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