The lake, the snow-topped mountains of many dreams and many childhood drawings return to me in the night. I know they are there, so near, so huge and beautiful, the air so clean, but barriers and vandalism and broken bridges and distracted companions slow my progress. Still, I walk on, even though the mountains cannot be seen. I know they are there.

I know when I awaken, it is a spiritual quest. In the dark at a crossroads, a 4-way stop, it is hard to take the next step, to know the right direction.

I lay back down. The plans, the interviews, the emails, the phone calls, the flight research of this week--all the hanging decisions--overwhelm me, buzzing in my mind. They disappear. Without intent, I am only breath.

The mountains and the lake and the sun are there, light of many colors, radiating from my chest.

I am the mountains and the lake, the sun, and they are me.

In a most essential way, the truth of every Holy Grail.