vivid dreams.

Lately I have been having extremely vivid dreams. I can't remember the last time I actually dreamt so vividly and so consistently. I think it has something to do with writing again. The colours that were once in my life, the colours that went away when I stopped writing are slowly finding their way back. Slowly they're flowing into each cracked, dry, and colourless fracture that was left in the wake of the words leaving.

Jean is in the hospital. I visited her 2 weekends ago in the hopes that I could bring some cheer into the room. As she lay there, weaker than I'd ever seen her, she wanted to talked to me about my writing. She wanted to know if I had been, and some how she knew I started again. She said that she could see it in my eyes. She told me that I was in a very dark place for a long time, that not writing is harmful to me, both physically and mentally. She said that when I don't writing there is a price to pay. I understand it.

Last night I dreamt of climbing down a frozen mountain. The sun was shining, the sky was blue. The mountain was covered in snow, but the rocky giant jutted its chin, elbows, and knees out in certain places. It was steep but I had no fear, it was as if I had all the propper gear and skill to make it down; my confidence billowing around me as I sure-footedly talked the mountain.

Its odd that my dream starts at the top of the mountain. But I understand. Jean said that I am a writer, no doubt in that. The problem is in my belief of that fact, I've always questioned it. The dream is symbolic of that, I have the skill and talent to not only make it up the mountain, but to climb down it as well.