River of living and not living

Half asleep,
I say to him,
to share this,
unsure of how much I need to say,
how much I can say,
"It is like a channel isn´t it?
This river of living and not living,
something flowing,
light,
dark."
And I am part of it,
he too,
yet I can talk about it,
say this to him,
while we are lying next to each other
in a bed in his childhood home.
And I feel that it is flowing,
warm and fluid.
"When did you first hear about it?" I ask.
"I don´t know," he answers.
When did you first hear about it?" He asks.
"I don´t know," I answer.
Quiet.
Flowing.
Slowly
we awake.