I've been dreaming again. There are times in my life when I simply crash into oblivious sleep, and others when I spend night after night after night wandering my emotional landscape. Sometimes the landscape is magical. Sometimes terrifying. I wake tired, sore even, and recognize that while I never left my bed, I have actually been on an inner journey.
I've been dreaming of water. Flooded rivers and deep forest pools into which mysterious magi dive from great heights, from diving platforms high up in the trees. Dark forests on the edge of deep blue oceans, the colour of no ocean I recognise. I dream, for the first time in my life, of being pregnant. In these dreams I am wandering wild landscapes with burning sunset skies and I am anxious about whether I really am pregnant, or whether I am dreaming the whole thing.
I wake frightened, with my palm pressed against my tummy. I remain unsettled through the day, half because of the landscape I have been in, and half because I want to return there as soon as possible.
Who is to say which is more real. The forests of my dreams with their fire and water and freedom and panic, or the world in which I type these words.
