Reflective Journal

Week two was a great experience and learned more behind what writing is really all about. We studied the history behind story telling and learned how old the story telling culture is and has changed…

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Meet Me At The Fire Pit

Dreams. We all have them. The One currently making the rounds among my group of friends is as follows.

My Friends and I talk about it with laughter in our voices and smiles in our hearts. The Compound — we call it. A fancier name for the commune we will found.

Large kitchen/dining area. Individual cabins/tiny homes for each person/couple — depending on how you roll. A centrally located out of doors gathering area. Labyrinth — fire pit — drum circle — spiritual center.

We’d like there to be woods and water nearby. Hiking trails and calm waters for canoes and kayaks. Sunsets over still waters. Trees to call our names and shelter our souls.

Outbuildings for projects and perhaps some small livestock. Places to work with our hands and house our passions.

Gardens of fresh vegetables and beautiful flowers everywhere you turn.

Tire swings for our grandchildren hung from trees they can climb into tree houses to fill their imaginations.

Our Compound grows more detailed and more beautiful with each conversation.

Will it become Reality? Who knows? The more important question to ask is this — does it matter?

For you see, I don’t believe it is ever about making Our Dreams turn into Reality. As with All. The. Things. in Life — it’s about the journey. The steps we take along the way which lead down The Paths we are meant to take, however twisted or convoluted they may seem. Until we arrive.

Is this Our Future? Unlikely. At least not for all of us. There might be a couple of us who manage to put together our own version.

A couple of campsites — on a lake. Calm water and a beautiful sunset. Trees whispering our names. A campfire between us. A few grandchildren running amok catching lightning bugs in mason jars. Good friends, good food, good times.

The soft sound of peepers singing their lullaby. The gentle laughter of old friends as we share our stories. Good scotch and the crackle of the fire.

I’ll see you there. Down at the fire pit. BYOB.

Namaste.

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