Dream Journal: under the setting of the full moon, 6-7am
The mountains around us rose like knife edges. Steep enough that you’d start to slip and fall for a mile if you attempted to walk them, but not tall enough to gather snow. They answered the question I had been asking myself: how could such a place exist in upstate New York? I had discovered a gem, a lake, a spiritual epicenter with mages and gurus: myth-makers and visionaries. Where plants can speak and dreams phase into reality. In a longhouse I watched them dispense advice to those who came, helping crack them open and cut to what was really alive. Pivoting the seekers to new ways of seeing the world, 15 month proscriptions. What protected this Avalon from being discovered? Those ridgelines forming a protective wall. How had we even crossed them? How had we arrived here? I remember now, I’m riding on a crowded horse-drawn wooden cart. We’re a group of adults, but on this journey, many of us has been joined by a double: we’ve been coming across children. I remember the first time I came across a younger self. I came across Dillon’s inner child in a snow field, and at first, I thought this was the true Dillon; I spent more time with him as a child than as an adult, so I still get disoriented by his gruff voice and sparse beard. We weren’t sure what would happen when they met each other, the child and adult versions of Dillon. But we soon noticed the same pattern: the younger selves don’t say anything out loud. They just sit with us and hold our hands. As the cart bounces, and I converse with Kaylee, I realize I’m not sure where my younger self is. “There”, she gestures, and I see a hunched over figured, being attended to, with hood drawn up and an oxygen mask. I need to attune to him. It’s time to wake up.
Beyond Mountains, More Mountains 