pillow hagiography

Not sure how, exactly, you came up with "pillow hagiography", but Thank You;
a pithier description of my night journeys is unlikely to be found.

While there's only memory to rely on - even the idea of taking pictures hints at a profaning I am not willing to toy with -
no two seem the same...

--

There are the classics:
~round salined stencils in the cotton, with a few rogue cowlicks reaching towards the edge of the slips,

And the bandits:
~broken circles, with key border pieces missing, stolen by absorbency or aridity or other mysteries of the bedroom's geography

And the Dali's
~surrealistic messes hinting at the holy with a gentle reminder to not hold my breath while i'm trying to deciper them

--

It's not the nightsweat-noggin-stamps that beget the wonder, of course, it's the supply-chain that midwifes them from the transcendent to the temporal:

The space where god is first revealed as a verb rather than a noun;
Then remembered as Source, which the verb comes from and will return to,
and finally,
simply,

The Mighty Is

Pre - requisite, referent or relationship.

--
Not sure, on reflection, if you actually came UP with "pillow hagiography", but Thank You, for pointing to its Pointing, to its contention that what is never lost can never really be found.