I don’t know what to call it. Dreamspeak? Possibly. But really it’s the stuff that comes into my head after dreams, just before I come to the surface of this living reality. Often the sentences are gone. If I try to hard to catch them they allude me. I need to detach myself and watch them and then get hold. If we talk so much we can talk too hard, was the sentence from this morning. I didn’t sleep well. I’m edgy about this article I have to write. I didn’t do as much as I’d hoped yesterday, I hadn’t cracked it. So I lay there mulling it over, trying out sentences. Hopeless. I did sleep eventually but my head is muggy as a consequence. A part of me knows it will be alright, that I have it in me to solve it, but this is eclipsed by my habit of fear.
There is no silence when I walk. The gulls caw and scream, the sea rolls and lashes, the wind chimes in the house next door to the nursery tinkle and clang and the generators down by the harbour hum. I don’t mind. I like the sounds as much as I like the smells, particularly of those of the smouldering embers of beach fires. There is an aliveness that I welcome, and need.
I’m ready. I’m ready to begin. He has just gone out for his walk. He will be back in half an hour or so. Begin. Now.