Even now at your window, I am in the dark beside you

When I was much younger, probably around the age of five, my neighbor Jason and I set out to find Candy Land. We were convinced, I think by his mother, that it was located somewhere in the woods that cradled our street. Jason's mother packed us a lunch, handed us walking sticks, two empty sacks (you know, for all the candy we were going to acquisition),wished us well, and set us on our way towards the dead end of the street where the path into the woods awaited us. This was serious business, no one had ever been able to find Candy Land, not the world's most formidable explorers, no one. We were modern Conquistadors and Candy Land was our El Dorado, only we weren't going to come up empty handed like our historic counterparts.

We came up empty handed, but you knew that already. We probably spent about twenty minutes in the woods before we became bored and went home. Looking back, I can't help feeling a little miffed at Jason's mother for lying to us about the existence of that fabled place. And why did she let two boys fresh out of nursery school venture off into the woods unattended? Back then, I guess, people were less paranoid, thankfully so, about danger lurking in every busy street, in every silent corner. For all I know, and, now that I think about it, she probably followed us on our adventure, ensuring our safety. She lied to us, yes, but her intentions were benign. And, I'm just throwing it out there, but what if she was being truthful? What if Queen Frostine and the Molasses Swamp were just around the bend? Perhaps we gave up to soon. Well, now I have a new number one regret in life.

Those woods. I spent a lot of time in those woods. They weren't too expansive, one could never truly get lost within them, but they were deep enough where your imagination could lead you to believe you were far away from civilization. I went looking for Bigfoot in those woods; took Mandy, the dog of my youth out there for many a playful romp; saw two girls lying on a flat rock sunbathing topless ( no, I didn't linger); and sought tearful refuge in it's comforting embrace during troubling times.

It's come to pass that the woods have become depleted. New houses with manicured lawns have eaten it up like cancer, leaving only small patches of forested land. Ah, but that's progress, right? This past thanksgiving, in search of a lost dog, I walked the woods. I felt like I was in a graveyard; everything seemed dead and forgotten. Maybe I was just projecting my irretrievable past onto it. Anyway, probably due to my past association with those woods and the apparent archetypal imagery they offer, I've been dreaming about them for most of my adult life.

In my dreams, those woods have served as a portal to another place, which, as close as I can figure, is probably what we call Heaven, or at the very least, another, more preferable, mysterious world. I don't have these dreams frequently, maybe two or three times a year, but when they occur, I invariably wake up wondering at the vast mysteries of life.

I had one the other night. I was with a group of friends and the vibe I got was that it was the last day of a camping trip and everyone was going for a hike, or perhaps relocating to another site in the woods. At first, our location was foreign to me, but then it transformed and we were in my parent's backyard, the woods looming over us. There were a few people in the group I didn't recognize. One of them was a woman I felt a connection with. She was a big reason I was eager to join the expedition into the woods.

As everyone was milling about, making sure they had everything they needed, I realized I had left a few things in the house. As I made my up to it, I ran into my brother in law, who came into the house with me. I asked him if he and my sister would be coming with us. He said he needed to stay behind with his mother, who he told me was sleeping in my bed. I wasn't pleased that I wasn't asked if that was alright. The thought of a sick, aging, woman occupying my bed made me uncomfortable, I was afraid I would catch whatever she had. I didn't dwell on it too long, however; I had places to go.

I ran into my mother, who was hanging garish strings of beads in the porch. I didn't bother asking her if she'd be coming with us; I knew she wouldn't be, which made feel a little sad. I found my shoes and made my out of the house, waving to my dad, who was standing outside one of the windows.

I rejoined the group just as they were heading off into the woods. Someone gave me a pamphlet to read. There wasn't much to it, save a few cryptic passages. I can't quote directly, but most of it was unsettling. It spoke of the decline of our civilization, about how, because of greed, separateness, and the absolute, pervasive evil in our world governments, life was about to become much, much, worse for everyone before it got better. I had the distinct impression the little trip we were embarking on had much to do with what I read and was probably one way. We weren't going to be coming back.

It was a beautiful day, the birds were singing, every one's mood was light, but the undercurrent was bittersweet. When I woke from the dream, right after I read the pamphlet, I spent the next several hours thinking about death and how foreign and cold, yet somehow beautiful, known, and exquisite it is. The grand paradox.

I don't know if the dream was about death. It could have been about change, about shedding the past. I don't know for sure, but the older I get, the more death surrounds me. My grandmother is in the hospital again, my parents are almost seventy, no one is getting younger. It can't be avoided, death. Everyone owes a life. Everyone. Jung wrote that we should start preparing for death when we reach our thirties. I agree. Something so huge, so monumental, cannot be swept under the rug forever. We deny it, we distract ourselves from it - it frightens us - but it needs to be regarded.

I wonder, when I'm called away from this mortal coil, if my journey will begin, not through a dark tunnel towards the light, but through the woods of my youth and of my dreams; a packed lunch and walking stick in hand.