Life Is But A Dream

[Guest guest]

Row row row Your boatGently down the streamMerrily ...merrily Merrily... merrilyLife is But a Dream

A dream which takes me back to Camp Alta Mons, and the gentle mountain

stream known as Purgatory Creek, which runs throughout the camp...It

is early Sunday morning. I have been here since early Friday

afternoon. I was snowed in at home in Pennsylvania, and arrived a day

late for the workshop. It is already time to leave.

 

I contemplate what has happened in the short time I have been here.

But first, in the true spirit of psycho drama, I must set the

scene..nestled in one of the multitude of enclaves created by the

precipitous, jutting terrain of the mountains in Shawsville,

Virginia, Camp Alta Mons is the location for my foray into what J.L.

Moreno, MD, called surplus reality. His methods, based in part upon

ancient Greek theatre, emphasize catharsis...I call it purging. I

have purged. Now it is time to take a walk.I leave the center behind

and begin to walk the path to the retreat house near the end of the

camp. I can feel and hear that crunch of the snow again as I walk the

path. I love to feel the snow crunch underneath my feet as I walk. I

love to hear the sound of the snow crunch underneath my feet as I

walk. Snow is everywhere, white and pure, slowly beginning to melt

back into the Earth, providing Sustenance.

There are small streams, branches of Purgatory Creek running through

the camp on both sides of me. I stop to look around me. I am

surrounded by jutting hills, shooting into the sky, almost in a

little valley on the side of the hills. The air is cold, but still.

The sun is just beginning to rise behind me, quiet this morning. The

hushed entrance of a new day.

I come to a shed, covered with snow, stark in relief against the woods

behind it. There is another part of the creek up ahead as I round the

bend of the path. I approach a small bridge over the creek. I stop

and turn to my right first, watching the water as it rushes out from

underneath the bridge. Noisy bubbles call from the corner below where

the water gushes out in escape from its constraints, jumping over

small rocks, bubbling out from underneath the jagged frozen ice

cover.

I turn around to the other side. Now the water rushes toward me,

entrancing me in its movement and grace. The current bounces and

sways creating little ripples of energy as it pushes its way to the

other side of the bridge away from me, behind me, can’t find me

now.

I lower my arm and put down my walking stick. I kneel down and place

my cross in front of me, the cross of life, the flame of life. My

beautiful little driftwood cross, made with gifts from the ocean. The

water rushes toward me as I kneel. I am lost as I feel the energy fill

me with its beauty. The sound of the rushing water fills my head. The

dancing, swirling waters pull me in...As I walk back to breakfast,

the creek now follows me on the left, both of us travelling in the

same direction, to the large pond, which is right in front of the

Center lodge. The smell of the wood burning fireplace in the eating

hall permeates the air as I walk up the path. A little bridge crosses

over another branch of Purgatory Creek.

As I cross the bridge I stop and look up. There they are again...the

praying trees, naked in their homage, unashamed of their devotion to

All That Is. Praying here just like they do back home, just like they

do everywhere. Hardly a leaf to be seen now...The path is soft with

fallen needles of the pine trees, yet another round of warriors to

the wheel of life. They caress my feet as I walk, my whole being

soothed by the softness beneath me. The snow is still pristine, yet

there are many melted areas in this part as well. I drink it All in.

Comes the sound of a bird, calling to another. They play a little duet

with each other as I listen. Below, the sound of the stream’s

bubbly accompaniment adds to the beauty of the symphony,

nature’s symphony. The snow crunches again beneath my feet as I

walk up the path, out of the softness of the pine needles and

into........mmmmmmmmmmm...food...splat!!!To be continued :-)

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