I remembered part of my dream about ten minutes after I woke. (I think there is moon stuff going on, it looked full to me when I looked out at it from my studio window at 2 am, so my dreams are bound to be vivid.) It featured a man I know from Norway, of whom I am fond. He was getting alternative treatment for a painful shoulder and back. His therapist spoke to me about him, not endeavouring to mask her obvious apathy towards him, and to him I noticed and remembered later. She told me how he could heal himself and showed me some drawings she wanted me to give him. One was of a cruel, despot and the other was a vision of happiness. They were like my drawings, quite dark and heavily worked. She wanted me to show them to him on her behalf. I did. Or at least I managed to show him the first. And he knew his name when I did not. Then he gave me a sweet, which he put in my mouth and said he’d return to see the other (or have me explain it to him). And then, inevitably, I woke up. The significance of all of this is clear to me. Is it to you?
I walked this morning hoping for moonlight but it had floated off behind a cloud. I walked with music in my ears so that I might not focus so heavily on my iron legs and shallow breath. It helps. And sometimes I sing. Who cares, there is no one about, except a girl who stops to stare at me, swerves a bit and then takes another drink out of bottle and moves on, up the hill. Returning home and climbing the gravelly path the light from my torch found a tiny snail making its was across the stones and leaving a minute trail of dotted lines. And then there was a spider scurrying off down past me. The air was warm, almost breathless.
And now I must write. And to celebrate I will make a pot of tea, Lapsang Souchong to perfume the room. So breathe, relax and all will be well.
