I dreamt of a volcano. Or at least there was one in my dream, just to the side of where I was walking, in the distance but near. I saw it as one sees a mountain in a Japanese print, slightly stylised. It was dormant, a curiosity rather than something to fear. I was walking up a muddy track with a group of other people, one of my sisters was with and friends from Norway and the US. I was carrying a ceramic bowl in my hand, I think it was the Rupert Spira one that I have upstairs. I believe, or at least I thought in my dream that I was in Hawaii but it was cold and wet. Then we were all inside a large house. My sister went outside for a massage. I don’t know where she went. She was as she was when she was a young woman. I kept to myself. My friends were at a distance to me emotionally.

I’ve an early shift. A paper review. Everything must be brought forward. All done now. Just waiting for him to shave then he will take me up there. We will breakfast apart. Me from my tupperware and he in the coffee shop getting butter and jam all over his fingers, sweet love. I’ve taken him his pills and two oatcakes to have with them. I takes my ministrations willingly.

A lovely walk. My legs though full of water felt stronger today. I only saw one man, no two. The first walked behind me, the soles of his shoes clattering and then scraping against the paving stones. I’m not comfortable with people walking behind me in the dark. I walk faster. I haven’t seen the woman with the bag for life for a few days now. Our neighbour was at his window again when I returned home. I felt my heart sink and I was sorry about it.

A busy day. Let me find time to breathe.

As I walked I thought of emptiness. Is it so frightening? Must I always try to fill it? Why not try and let it be?

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.