Last night we sat among the stars at the foot of mount wilson with a basket of Chinese food after a long and wearing day full of joy and sadnesses and a mixed bag in between

The night had its affect on us
The mountain air blew into us

And my mind changed, it released (as often is the case around mountains and swaths of trees and their scents becoming me) And we remembered ourselves as spirits, ourselves as souls

And we told our collective stories dreamingly and clear

And last night I dreamed of a few that I know, one absurd and unsettling, unsatisfying and the other settling and fulfilling, though perhaps still absurd in its ordinary dreamlike quality

The smells and sounds of the forest at night
Owl oak drifts
The highway far away
I am drifting and seeing shapes and traveling to far away places I carry inside The year of the introvert
Exploring the imagination, the final charted territory
Riding the majestic steed of the breath, my ever-companion

Owl bright morning bird Sees