Dreams are powerful tools that can help guide anyone to success and happiness. They represent some cherished aspiration, an ultimate ideal of achievement.

The word sylvan refers most directly to a setting associated with the woods. Reflecting on the vigorous life that abounds in sylvan settings is a very powerful force in my life. For me, this word evokes feelings of transcendence, clarity, and unity.

A Sylvan Dream is a dynamic compilation of my life dream. It is an attempt to seek out and document the truth, beauty, and clarity that exists in this world.

Sunday, April 19, 2009


In spirit of the season, I decided to make sure I am putting forth an effort to mantain some level of freshness in my life, and my understanding of Spanish is now a part of this.   I felt comfortable speaking spanish when I left Peru, but recently I have gotten a glimpse into expressing emotions in spanish, and I see there is a world of learning I have ahead of me. While in my personal life I am cultivating relationships and attempting to explore more spanish, I have also picked up The Captain's Verses, by Pablo Neruda, and the first poem I read while waiting for the bus a few minutes after I bought it made me sit back on the bench and smile a deep smile. Neruda's Spanish melts away superfluity, and leaves us with emotions of lucid simplicity.

From time to time I think I will post some passages from his poems that strike those membranes deep inside and sound the depths I have been searching for years.

from 'el pozo'
Mi vida, no hallaras
en el pozo en que caes
lo que yo guardo para ti en la altura:
un ramo de jazmines con rocio,
un beso mas profundo que tu abismo.

This poem is part of 'el pozo' the rest of the poem is beautiful as well, but this section made me sit back and think.   I keep for you a kiss deeper than your abyss - what a wonderful use of words to show someone how you feel you could fill any abyss within them with nothing but the love in a true kiss.  

A bouquet of dewy jasmines - what a beautiful image. I have no clue what it could have meant to Neruda, but how beautiful.  I love dew.  It evokes for me a sense of morning awareness, and a freshness that only a new morning can bring. 

In English:
from 'the well'
Darling, you will not find
in the well into which you fall
what I keep for you on the heights:
a bouquet of dewy jasmines
a kiss deeper than your abyss.

Monday, April 13, 2009

Twitterpainted 2009

Well, my silence lately has been a good one. There has been much going on since returning to the states, and all is well. I haven't been able to take the time so much lately to sit and update my blog, but nonetheless I am writing a ton in my journals, doing a ton on the trail, and living an all around inspired lifestyle on the Olympic Peninsula.

However, at the moment, I am in Winston-Salem, NC visiting a friend I met in Peru. I turned 26 yesterday. The past several years I have taken pictures of all the flowers I can find, but yesterday we drove on the Blue Ridge Parkway, winding through early spring in the oak and pine ridges of Appalachia. We stopped at Mt. Mitchell, highest place east of the Mississippi, where at roughly 6680 feet we had a 360 degree view of the surrounding mountains for long distances.

Spring awakens my spirit every year reminding me who I am, and how vibrant life is. A new leaf, delicate and bright green, slowly unfurling as it bounces around in the warm spring breeze stirs something within me as I stare. It is a feeling that, to me, just feels like perfection.

After several weeks of watching the catkins growing and swelling to an arousing shade of red on the alders along the lakeshore, it finally happened. The leaf buds swell as the pollen tassles lengthen. The chickadees dangle from the branch tips inspecting for larvae poking their black heads from the buds. Then, one day a memory of a song echoes across seasons, and spring is really here. I hear the first excited song of a yellow-rumped warbler coming from the top of a doug-fir standing high next to the lakeside alders. After arriving from somewhere in California or further south, they begin blocking out a territory with their ethereal voice while frantically gleaning larvae and hatching insects from the awakening alder trees.

Within a few days of their arrival, the catkins open, casting powdery waves of condensed sunlight through the warming air. The wind gathers the pollen in streaks across the lake, sometimes reaching several miles unbroken. This year, the catkins on the large alder next to the boathouse opened the day after the warbler arrived at Lesage. I live on the North shore of the lake, where sun is much more abundant, and spring comes a few days earlier. On the South shore of the lake where I work on Barnes Point at OPI, winter holds on a little longer in the shade of Aurora Ridge and Mt. Storm King. The warblers didn't show up there for another 5 days.

With each free day I have, I sit for hours on the deck at Lesage, watching the awakening. The kokanee snatch stoneflies from the surface of the water, while those that escape into the air glitter in the sunlight like snowflakes returning to winter clouds. Stellars Jays hawk through the trees, and tear clumps of moss from the maple branches in search of the recently emerged large black beetles that I have yet to identify. Sometimes I think that I could live forever in the vibrance of this season.