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.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Amanecer en mi Alma

Sometimes at the end of a day, when things have been getting at me and I have been thinking too much, I envision myself in a nice and quiet darkened room.  Glancing around, tendrils of light illuminate the corners, but when I feel like this, everything just reflects distraction.  A guitar shines a glossy stare in silence.  A map pinned to a wall insights an anxious itch at the back of my arm and shoulder blades.  A corner of a closet with no door, climbing shoes beneath a vinyl dry bag I continually forget to return to work.  Smartwool socks right side out if they are clean, inside out of they are questionable, and in the corner behind my door if they should not be worn.  A mess of books cascade like dominoes over the floor against an unused bed.  Titles like,  Journey to Ixtlan, Angle of Repose,  Ecological Literacy,  Assembling the Tree of Life make a good summation of my interests, but from what distracts me these words cannot amuse.

Rain whispers through the roof.  Even though it is late May, it is raining like March. Marbles of exploding rain scatter across the deck.  Deep blue twilight makes my eyelids heavy as I trace the reflection of the mountains across the lake.  Seurat could pock a canvas no finer.  As calming as this all is, birds and bees are bouncing around inside me.  The eye of spring has opened with the awakening trillium along the trail.  The fuscia salmonberry blossoms have the hummingbird flashing through tendrils of misty sun in the early morning.  The wren has been singing her demanding song tirelessly in the depths of the forest for too long, and now with the tanager taking his post in the tops of the doug-firs, it is time for this rain to end. 

Visiting the east coast this spring during my birthday was quite a pleasant tease.  Not only do I look around getting glimpses of the tardy season, but also now subtle banalities remind me of the pleasant awakening I found there.  Tired of hugging my knees to my chest as I stare out the window, the expanse of this continent has become more evident, and again I am tempted to migrate towards this wonderful feeling. 

It has been a great winter, and a lazy but heartening spring.  Despite the distance, I feel her within me, solid as a mountain reclining across the landscape.  Those curves my body has explored, my fingertips now impatiently retrace.  With the clearing of the skies I feel freshness only a new day can bring. The reflection across the lake shimmers as clear as the dark pools of her eyes.


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