Tonight I want to say something wonderful br for the sleepwalkers who have so much faith br in their legs, so much faith in the invisible br br arrow carved into the carpet, the worn path br that leads to the stairs instead of the window, br the gaping doorway instead of the seamless mirror. br br I love the way that sleepwalkers are willing br to step out of their bodies into the night, br to raise their arms and welcome the darkness, br br palming the blank spaces, touching everything. br Always they return home safely, like blind men br who know it is morning by feeling shadows. br br And always they wake up as themselves again. br That's why I want to say something astonishing br like: Our hearts are leaving our bodies. br br Our hearts are thirsty black handkerchiefs br flying through the trees at night, soaking up br the darkest beams of moonlight, the music br br of owls, the motion of wind-torn branches. br And now our hearts are thick black fists br flying back to the glove of our chests. br br We have to learn to trust our hearts like that. br We have to learn the desperate faith of sleep- br walkers who rise out of their calm beds br br and walk through the skin of another life. br We have to drink the stupefying cup of darkness br and wake up to ourselves, nourished and surprised.