I Dreamt I Was Painting

Last night, for the first time ever, I dreamt that I was painting.

I dream (and remember every detail) pretty much every night. Usually too complex for deciphering, more fantastical than any sci fi novel, often nasty and mostly not what I would be picking to spend my time thinking about if I had a choice. I now feel I have turned a corner.

Perhaps my subconscious has caught up with all this waking time holding a paintbrush...though I wouldn't bet on it. But I will revel in the dream I had last night, which is not in the least difficult to decipher.

Last night I was painting and as I looked at the work a great sense of safety washed over me. I was in the right place. 

Although I could not see the painting clearly, I did have a sense of it. It was warm and loving and drawing me in with every stroke. Every addition was intuitive, but intentional. Every single thing I added to the painting was like a little exchange between me and it. In return it gifted every addition to its layers with a reflection, bordering on revelation, back to me instantaneously.

The exchange of truth with this painting kept building, until it had given (and it's layers held) every answer to every question I've ever asked.

I woke up....and cannot remember any of them!

Well, that's not entirely true, I do remember the overall general reflection of the painting as a whole. It is perhaps the biggest (albeit simplest) reflection of them all. It was this:

This is important. And relaxing. And easy. 

You need to be here everyday.

So off I go, right now.

Who can argue with a dream?