Numinosity, so close yet so distinct from luminosity, describes that netherland on the far side of the moon. We can not see it if we go looking, and only in our dreams does it become us and infuse us with its portents. If we are semi-conscious, we wake in a mild sweat contemplating the liminal seams between fear and optimism; death and life; loss and gain. The Bully Boy has come to visit me again. It is his fourth visit in five years, reminding me of my mortality, my weakness, my fears. He floats in through the cornered windows of my 3 am driftings, dangling in prisoners’ stripes and a mummy head with vacant eyes. His feet dangle the random jig of death, as though to mock me. He ratchets, gear by clinking gear on a well-oiled chain that knows my name and my position. He approaches steadily, but slowly, to calculate whether I’m paying attention yet. He’d prefer to capture me aware of his arrival ~ what game is there in converting a slovenly consciousness to his presence ? I roll away from his triangulated trajectory, and he picks up his ratched speed. The gears squeak, his mouth appears mocking me in a black-holed jack-o-lantern grin. I smell famine in my room. I smell rotten potatoes and rancid fat. He is wordless as the scarecrow in the field, but I know he is my fears, my nemesis and the crow’s wings within my shoulder blades. I waken to confront him before he bullies me off to purgatory for evading the unavoidable. I shout at him for daring accuse me of slacking in my duties. But this is not what he wants. The Bully Boy wants my courage to surrender to change, in a life and death-soul way. And then, I realize that he is mine, and arrives from time to time to remind me the clock is ticking, and the reality shift is well-nigh if I choose to thrive. Numinous he is, this Bully Boy of mine ~ lurking through my moon-lit windows, guaging my progress. One day, we’ll settle our issues, and that is when I’ll know I’m on the right path to luminosity.