It’s the season of the fall again, my favourite time of the year, saturated with colour, stolen warmth, beautifully disappearing light, the sweet scent of fallen fruit and leaves.
I’ve started walking and I found that gives me time to breathe, to reflect on all happenings in my work, life, dreams.
I’ve been dreaming a lot, really strange, very vivid, like from a second life. I did write the fragments from them, or the essence, of what I remembered from them at the beginning and that seemed to comfort. You know, once you write about a thing it starts to exist for others too, it’s no longer as invisible as it used to. Scary thought.
There were lots of waves, water advancing, engulfing everything. An elevator appeared too, in essence most of the constant reappearing motives throughout my usual nightmares appeared, but somehow in not-so-threatening way as they used to. More like a warning rather than a shock. A quiet reminder or premonition.
And then there were new ones, memorable characters emerging. Such as the giant armadillo, stuck under concrete slabs. Shoal of little red fish in the desert swimming in rusty-looking water. The balcony filled with cacti and other plants, like a botanical garden. And the big, coal black bull who caught me in his horns and bit my right arm.
Walking, writing and painting are my magical companions. Their transformative power helps me reach and see, experience and understand, come to terms with negative emotions and move on.