Tuesday, December 29, 2015

Winter Break Fly-Fishing

I take a certain satisfaction  engaging in activities that are in tune with the seasons. Few things in life are as rewarding as sensing I am in the right place at the right time such as fly fishing to a specific hatch.

I love that sense of,  "It is time."  I love to feel, "in season," or "tis the season."  Back east we had a "closed season" and anglers looked forward to "opening day." Here in Colorado, most of our waters are open to fish any time of year. One local exception is Spinny Mountain Reservoir which has a closed season and an opening day. Opening day is highly anticipated by many anglers. Being a part of this ritual of  "opening day" creates a sense of connection to the bigger cycles of life.  

More specifically there are certain times of the year to put on specific flies during  certain hatches. When we follow such specific 'seasons' fly fishing gives us a sense of belonging. There is a time for the fish to rise and a time to lay low.  For me, now, is the time when both I and fish will lay low.  I feel I do not belong on the river now.

Often for me, the month of December is a time for me to retreat from the river. While it is cold and snowy, I prefer to cross country ski. I bundle up and keep warm blending in with winter.

I feel more in harmony with nature when I allow the seasons and the weather to dictate what I do. If I fish now, I feel I am "standing out," exposed to the cold. I feel I am "fighting" against the elements of nature rather than being a part of it all.  

I am not sure when I will fish again. Year to year, December tends to be my down time for fly fishing. But, as we know, Colorado weather can change so quickly.  Perhaps a warm, lengthening, day in January might bring me out to the river again. However, for now, I lay low like the fish. For now, I allow the snow and the cold to come down upon me. But I am not exposed. I remain warm, becoming a part of the landscape, deep in powder.

I glide silently, low and deep, in the womb of the wood. I ski the mountain and forest, forever looking for a glimpse of the source of all this winter beauty.  I look for a hint of warmer days to come, when a fish might rise, as I too will rise from my own interior winter. 

Friday, December 18, 2015

The Mind of Winter


I think often about my place in nature. I wrestle with my sense of belonging. Sometimes I walk up to the river and on my first few casts I catch fish. Everything is beautiful, flowing, and everything is just right. I feel I belong.

Fishing or doing anything in harsh conditions can be different. Sometimes it just too cold and the wind feels too harsh to belong. Sometimes we are just waiting and waiting for things to warm up and for the fish to start feeding. During such moments, at least for me, I feel almost "God forsaken" in a God forsaken land.

Yesterday, I went skiing. It was cold, bitter cold.  "Cold on cold; snow on snow." Usually I love floating and flowing on snow. But, the cold wind was unrelenting. I had to turn my back on nature to keep my face from freezing. I was miserable wondering in such harsh conditions how this is "God's place." I found myself wondering if there was some way to "enter," to enter God's creation, and to enjoy it. If there was a way in, and I was supposed to be there, I was missing the point of entrance.

Poets give us clues. Could I be like a snow-man?  Poetic words by Wallace Stevens from a poem titled, "The Snow Man."

"One must have a mind of winter, to regard the frost and the boughs of pine trees crusted with snow; And have been cold a long time to behold the Junipers shagged with ice. The spruces rough in the distant glitter of the January sun. And not to think of any misery in the sound of the wind, in the sound of a few leaves,which is the sound of the land full of the same wind that is blowing in this same bare place."

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

A Bass Pond in Florida:

Leaving the cold and snow of Colorado to fish a bass pond in Florida is kind of strange. It was 82 degrees.  Fishing still-waters for bass brings back memories of fly fishing a pond in New Jersey where as a child I first learned to fly fish.

At some level fishing is just fishing. We throw the line out (in this case a black bead-head streamer), and we strip the line in waiting for a tug. Often a strike from a bass is felt as "dead weight," and is not frantic like a trout. A bass will just suck in the fly and it feels as though you caught a snag. But then you feel its life pulsating.

Regardless of where we fish or what we fish for, after fishing for 50 years one truth is becoming more and more clear: Taking the time to stand alone on the banks of a pond or a river, and to cast with the hope of hooking a fish is a profound spiritual achievement.

Even if hooking bass in a pond.

Sunday, December 6, 2015

In the Moment:


In the movie, “The Secret Life of Walter Mitty,” there is an insightful scene at the end when Sean O’Connell (Sean Penn) is about to take a picture of a rare snow leopard. He is tucked on the side of the mountain and has zoomed in on the beautiful creature. Walter Mitty (Ben Stiller) shows up and is watching; waiting for Sean to shoot the picture. Finally he asks, When are you going to take it? Sean responds, “Sometimes I don’t. If I like a moment for me, personally, I don’t like to have the distraction of the camera. I just want to stay in it.” Walter Mitty is not sure exactly what he means so he asks, “Stay in it?” Sean replies, “Yeah, right there. Right here.”
 
I think how I now often do not like to take many pictures of fish for this simple reason. The process of taking pictures can be a distraction. I would rather keep fishing and just be in the moment, and the next moment, and the next. I also think in our computerized world where we chronically post millions of pictures all over the internet we may be living more of a virtual life, than the reality of life in each moment. If I catch a fish and the first thought is to take a picture so I can post it for the world to see, I may be missing “some-thing” in the moment.

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

Hiding Under the Ice

While I will still fish in our open tail waters some part of me secretly likes it when I think of fish hiding safely under the expanding ice. Finally, some rest.

Friday, November 27, 2015

Longings Deep Within: The Inner-Life

Gray skies over head, geese honking and heading somewhere all tug at some place deep within reminding me to pay attention to my inner life. Such "tugs" are more worthy of my attention than the fish that just took my fly, is pulling out line, and is heading south and certainly more important than all the advertising that bombards my senses during the holiday season. 

"The inner, what is it-if not intensified sky, hurled through with birds and deep with the winds of home coming."  (Rilke)


Tuesday, November 17, 2015

Turning-Within as Winter Approaches


"Ah, but the winters! The earth's mysterious turning-within." (Rilke)

It may not "officially" be winter but I prefer to pay attention to what I feel in my blood. Could we feel this storm coming?

"I can tell by the way the trees beat, after so many dull days, on my worried windowpanes that a storm is coming."

I secretly enjoy how a storm slows us down and perhaps, urges us to "turn-within."  It slows down city life and the racing, frantic culture in which  we find ourselves; perhaps, trapped. Some times when a storm comes, schools and work places have delays or even closures. As kids, do we remember the excitement of a snow day? Yippee! Time to get the sleds and play outside.  A break from the routine. As we dipped between the hills on our sleds, we slipped into another time and place, entering another world. I don't know how much that "other world" exists anymore for us, or our kids, but I still look for those "in-between" places.

As adults, it is more difficult to slow down, slip away, and find those "in-between" places.  Yet, when a storm comes,  we might remember  and feel in our blood, a slowing down, and a peculiar turning within.  We can almost sigh a moment of relief.  With the Earth, we mysteriously turn-within. We change our cadence, and for a few brief moments relax, allowing the storm to dominate our lives.

"If only we would let ourselves be dominated as things do by some immense storm, we would become strong too, and not need names." 

For most of us, the storm, no longer dominates our lives. Other things dominate. Our names (and what people expect from us), work, our schedules, making money, shopping, stresses of the holidays. How ironic that while the earth is "mysteriously turning within," and we might begin slowing down and turning within ourselves, we have the demands of the  holiday "season" (is it really a season?) heaped upon us.

I personally, would prefer to plunge in-between the hills and snowbanks. Let the snow from the storm be heaped upon me and my all too often frantic life. In that quiet place, I might, for a moment, slow and turn within, and remember another time and place.

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Casting In-between Seasons: Fall/Winter Transition

I feel the shift inside me every late Fall. The shift is a restlessness as I try orient myself seasonally. When I fish this time of year I feel I am casting in-between two seasons. I am not sure where I belong. The geese over head are moving south. I am here; caught in-between.

The harsh cold wind and snow this morning intensifies my disorientation. The cold and snow reminds me that it is no longer summer. Perhaps it is no longer Fall. Yet, it is not quite winter.  It is a  season in-between and I am caught in-between.

I often feel "in-between." I am often in-between various groups of people. I am not at ease sitting in church among the religious nor am I at ease among those who claim there is no God.

At a deeper level, and in a more general sense, this time of year, I feel more spiritually sensitive to my "questionable" belonging. I feel more aware of being "Soaked in exile," uncertain of where I belong. Who are my people? Where is my place?

I recently reread Clarissa Pinkola Estes, "Women Who Run With Wolves," the section on "Belonging." I believe it is in chapter six. She talks about "The Ugly Duckling," wandering trying to find his place, family and his community. She goes on to describe this story as a "Root, spiritual story." Coming to terms with this story, is of vital importance in our spiritual, emotional and psychological growth. Estes says if we do not understand this story and come to terms with it, true growth is questionable. Understanding a root story is fundamental to our growth just as a basic cast is fundamental to developing our fly fishing techniques

The orphan archetype is powerful and this same archetype is a powerful theme of the Bible. We see God's people wandering the Earth as "aliens and strangers." We also see it in Jesus, but many Christians prefer to see Jesus differently. We tend to prefer the Jesus of the "Prosperity Gospel;" The Jesus that hands out blessing in the forms of cash and town-homes on golf courses. That Jesus is a fun and popular guy. 

Certainly an argument could be made that if a person is completely alienated in his/her world, then something is wrong or out of balance. I can accept that argument. There is at least some truth there.
However are we aware of how the world offers us so many consolations, pills and thrills, and clubs that can distract us from feeling any kind of legitimate spiritual alienation? Are we open to how we almost absolutely refuse to feel any form of alienation?  

Rather than blocking out and masking all kinds alienation we should ask ourselves a question: What does it mean if we never feel somewhat out of place in this world, if we never feel as though we are wanderers who can't quite fit in, if we never feel alienated in a world in which we are "constantly glimpsing God, and feeling our whole nature still soaked in exile?"

If that is the reality of the human spiritual condition. If it is true that we are the "Ugly Ducklings," of the world, wandering in search of our true place,  then perhaps we should be feeling at least some of that exile and feeling somewhat lost.

And then perhaps we should start paying some attention to the beautiful swans over head that might be calling to us.  

Friday, November 6, 2015

Deckers: Riding the Storm Out

Time and time again, when you plan to go fish and there is a storm coming; JUST GO!
Ride the storm out and you might be rewarded.

We had snow, wind and some pockets of clear skies: typical Colorado weather. We had cold hands and feet but we rode it out and caught some nice fish.

We were not missing a thing in the city. 


"I've been thinking lately of what I'm missing in the city,
and I'm not missing a thing." (REO Speedwagon)


Monday, November 2, 2015

First Cast Fish at Deckers South Platte River




I do not know what it means when someone picks up a fly rod for the first time in their life, haphazardly flops the fly on the South Platte River and a fish takes the fly.  Such was the case this morning when my client who had never fly-fished, netted a fish on her very first cast. The cast was made, the fish was on and screaming down the river.  For those of us who regularly fish the South Platte River at Deckers, we know how stacked the odds are against this feat.

How do we understand such events? Are they explainable? Do they mean anything? Are such events worthy of our attention and consideration?  Or, do we just quickly resolve the issue by calling it “Beginners Luck?” Yet, if we are honest with ourselves, we know this cliché does not completely explain the phenomena? The religious might call it a blessing of God but this also does not settle the issue as I want to ask,  “Why a blessing of God today with this person and not tomorrow with another?”

Before we consider quickly responding to these questions, we need to look at the opposite of “good luck” and consider what we call “bad luck.” For every story of good fortune when it seems that some “blessing” falls out of the sky (or comes down the river), there are countless other stories of misfortune.  Perhaps we are at the same loss of words to explain both the fortunes and misfortunes that make up our lives.

A fly fisher catches 5 or 6 big fish in the morning. Another angler just across the way, also hooks 5 or 6 big fish but only to have the hook pull out just before netting? Why? Is this good luck for one and bad luck for another?  Are the “fish gods” with the one and not the other? 

In the big scheme of things, does any of this matter? Yet, we can think of more important life events that results in more profound outcomes in our lives.  Our explanations can be just as vague. And maybe we need to stay unresolved and without definite conclusions.

In the end, I do not know. Or, at the very least I am not sure. I do believe though that when something happens and gets our attention, even such as the catching of a fish on our first cast, we could consider the event and ponder its occurrence.  We may never figure out its meaning but we can “live in the question.”  I have also found that as we live in these questions, this is probably not the time to quote scripture;  those “one liners” we often use out of context, to support ones explanation and viewpoint. All too often this results in superficial resolution and neglects the person standing across the river who might be fish-less.  

We ask the questions that have no answers. As we ponder the questions, we might vaguely become aware of a story, a bigger story, and yet, in some small ways, is the story of our individual lives. We become aware of both the seemingly fortunate and unfortunate events of our lives and those around us; all connected in the mystery of our life with God. 

Friday, October 23, 2015

Snow, Overcast Conditions On Dream Stream Bring B.W.O's to Surface

What a morning! Snow Falling, B.W.O's Emerging; Fish Rising.  The overcast conditions must have given the fish a "covering" and a sense of protection. It felt like we were fishing into an "extended" night. We found lots of feeding fish taking nymphs early on and then emergers and dry flies. The old gray RS2 was the best fly.

Ironically, I had told my client before hand that he would probably not have many opportunities on the Dream Stream because it has been fishing tough lately.  Glad I was wrong. It just fished well as he hooked fish after fish. If we had a typical sunny day, we both had the feeling the fish would have been far more selective.

Glad we went. We almost rescheduled the trip due to the weather. As is often the case, it is better to "just go," knowing that snow, rain and overcast, can often provide spectacular fishing.


We wish we had a photo of the big rainbow my client caught but it made one last jump out of my clients hands, back in the river, before I could snap the picture. It was a "slab." We did  get a picture of this respectable Brown,  capturing  some of the magic of the morning,  even as the brim of his hat captured some of the falling snow.  

Sunday, October 18, 2015

Looking For Big Fish in All the Wrong Places: Big Fish Continue to Rise on Dream Stream


This time of year, on the dream stream, the crowds go after the big Browns that run up out of 11 mile reservoir. Most fly fishers are chucking heavily weighted nymphs and fishing down to the monsters that are laying low.  While sight fishing, we are looking "down," and this is exciting, but maybe we should try looking "up."

This morning, once again  there was a heavy Trico hatch that brought the fish up on top. I put aside my nymphing rod and fished to large rising Rainbows, Cutthroats and Cut-bows. I landed several heavy fish over 20 inches. It felt "right" to fish on top since that was where they were and they were actually eating. It also felt right to match the hatch and make a nice delicate dry fly presentation to fish I could see actively feeding. Dry fly fishing captures (for me) the essence of fly fishing and often embraces a different etiquette.  Sometimes, I just get tired of chucking lead and weighted flies to fish that are preoccupied.  

It is also common knowledge that there are a lot of little dinks that are rising. Yes, most of the rising fish are small, but in their midst you will sometimes hear a "slurp and a gulp" that is NOT made by a small fish. Cast to those gulpers and you may be rewarded for looking for the big fish in all the right places. 

I may sound like a "dry fly purest," but I am not. I get excited chasing BIG Browns, or, for that matter, any big fish laying low. However, right now, it just seems that there are more anglers than Big Browns in the river. It looks like every section of river has 50 anglers to one fish. It gets and looks to be a bit ridiculous. Sometimes I picture those big Browns "ducking" every time we throw our weighted nymphing rigs over them. 

What do we do?  Can we close off the river during the spawning runs?  This is probably not going to happen even though many would support it. Perhaps, when we do find big fish, we can at least learn to observe what they are doing. Are they feeding? Are they actively spawning? We can consider their beauty.

Whether the fish are rising or laying low, we could at least "go easy" on them. How many fish does it take to satisfy?  Do we have to keep on casting and casting; dredging and dredging, hour after hour? Even while dry fly fishing during a trico hatch, how many fish does a angler have to hook before enough is enough?

Even as I ask these questions I am aware that this approaching cold front bringing rain and snow might bring a surge of  big fish up the drainage. Who knows? And maybe the cold will keep some of the crowds away but I doubt it.  We can always look. We can look up and we can look down and hopefully, regardless of what we find, we can find that place inside of us that can be more easily satisfied.

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

A Thin Place: Enchanting Ireland



“My fiftieth year had come and gone, I sat a solitary man, an open book, an empty cup, upon the marble table top.”  Yeats.

Sitting in an Irish pub in Galway, Ireland, I thought of Yeats, sitting in pubs writing poetry and contemplating life. It was in this enchanted land, where Yeats spoke of fishing.  He says;

“I went out to the hazel wood,
 because a fire was inside my head,
 And cut and pealed a hazel wand,
 and hooked a berry to a thread,
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.”

Yeats is fly-fishing. If you get hung up in literalism, and want to argue he is not really fly-fishing and matching the hatch because he has hooked a berry to a thread, then you are missing the point.  I hope, quite simply and more importantly, that regardless of his fly fishing techniques, we can understand that he is more than fly-fishing.   

We know he is more than fly-fishing because as we learn from this enchanting poem, the trout turns in to a glimmering girl and calls him by name. Again if you get caught up in literal interpretations or come from a strict "religious"  back ground, you will be disappointed, that the fish did not turn into a tablet with the ten commandments etched in stone. I personally prefer the "glimmering girl," but if you need to hang on to that stone table, go ahead.

The poet then decides that, “Though I am old with wandering, through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone.”   As we read these words, we see a different set of spiritual values in the poet. He is not merely seeking a trout; nor a young woman for that matter. He is seeking “some-thing” else and he will seek this “though he is old with wandering.”  Many fly fishers never realize, that it is "some-thing" else they seek, while they fish.

As I sat, considering my own life and culture I realized that most often it seems to move at a cadence that is too fast to seriously probe the depths of the interior, poetic and mythological life. As I write, I realize that many of us do not have the time to even ponder several lines of poetry. We live in a different culture, demanding immediate gratification and information. As fly fishers, we often just want to know what fly works and where. Never mind this poetic nonsense. Spiritually, we  also, often want the simple, quick answers.

Sitting solitary in this Irish pub, without rush, I feel how this place, perhaps, this whole culture is more of a “thin place” than back home. Celtic spirituality speaks of “Thin Places,” those special places, often geographic, where, if we can find the right cadence and enter, we might be more vulnerable to the spiritual/poetic interior life.  Even the hotel we stayed at set the tone of a different set of values.  Across the hall from our room, the words “Yeats Suite,” were on the door. I wonder what percentage of the people of our culture ever heard of Yeats or could even recite a single line of poetry.  

It seems that much of the culture I come from in America is flat, void of depth, musing, and life. My culture feels “thick” with bland, rationality, literalism and is lacking myth, poetry, and magic.  In America, even the Christian church, often only parrots the shallow “answers,” rather than deeply pondering the questions.   

In Ireland, people speak of a whole other enchanting world of fairies and Hawthorne trees. These stories are so powerful that they have arrested housing and road developments, because some still fear the consequences of messing around with the spiritual world.  Apparently, in Ireland, you don’t mess around with a Hawthorne tree and the little fairies.  Roads have been diverted to go around certain Hawthorne trees out of respect to the "little people."

While touring down a narrow road along the green hillside the bus driver speaks of a leprechaun, he spied on the side of the road. He slows down to a stop. Caught up in the enchanting moment, I could not stop my rational mind from searching the area, quite extensively, I must confess, looking for “some-thing.”  I ask myself, what this is inside of me; perhaps all of us, that even as rational, adults, hopes to “believe” in more than the concrete, world around us.

Besides stories of enchanting fairies, trees and leprechauns, there is the story of the “Salmon of knowledge.”  Legend has it that whoever catches this fish gains wisdom and becomes (not a millionaire, a manager or a CEO), but rather the greatest poet in the land. The old stories in Ireland still reflect what they value. How sad that in corporate America, and even often  in our personal development, poetry and myth are, for the most part, not of value. We do not have a defining story.  

How sad that poetry and myth are not valued (let alone understood), in churches across the country. Could corporations and churches ever function at the slower cadence needed that would allow entrance into another world.  Could we slow down enough to deeply contemplate the meanings of whatever stories, myths, and poetry we still might posses?  How sad that Jesus spoke in poetry, parables, symbols, and paradox and we often fail to understand. How sad that the defining story here, is to consume and buy things.  What a tragedy that we lost our story that helps define who we are and explains our deep inner experiences of life,  including those while we fly fish.  

Yet, we do have some wonderful fly-fishing here and that art with the slower pace it demands, offers us some hope.  While fly-fishing with its own unique cadence, I think there are times we can possibly experience a “thin place” on our rivers. We can start by slowing down our cast to a slower cadence and regaining power, grace and art.  

As I walked the Dream Stream, yesterday I thought about my trip to Ireland and our different cultures. As I walked I slowed down my pace, carefully searching the water.  It was then that I saw a Brown, just down along a particular bend, big enough, to easily swallow a few leprechauns.  Perhaps some of you saw the same fish.  And, perhaps some of you, also, saw the leprechaun.

Regardless, at least you are looking and enchanted by the possibility.  It is a start and a possible way out of our flat culture and the flat culture of our churches.  

Saturday, September 26, 2015

Deeper Reflection On Dream Stream Morning



I wonder if some-thing unique happens, not only within our selves, but also in others and even the entire creation, perhaps even within the fish, when we begin to live according to the Beatitudes, as spoken by Jesus. Maybe “some-thing” new begins to happen, when we consider walking in the kingdom  of God,  starting with our own hunger and thirst for something deeper than the fish we seek.

When I took my daughter fly-fishing on the Dream Stream, I tried to do some “heart preparation” for our time together. It was not much but it was something. I simply made a choice not to be uptight and frantic. My daughter and I even talked about how we were not really going fishing but rather we were just going for a nice walk along the river. We might cast if we saw some fish but the attitude was quite laissez-faire.  With the Aspen golden yellow, it was far too beautiful of a day for stressful rushing around  fretting and worried about catching fish. I thought of some poetic lines:

“Look at the birds of the air, they do not sow, neither do they reap, nor gather in barns and yet your heavenly father feeds them…”

“Which of you by being anxious can add a single cubit to his life’s span?”

We walked, letting go of our need to fish and it was then that we found a good run of water. The bugs started to hatch and the fish responded taking tiny Tricos off the surface. We also responded and started throwing our dry flies in the drift lines leading into gulping mouths. I did not worry much about helping my daughter. I had taught her enough 20 years ago.  I decided I was just going to let her fish and figure it out on her own. And, even that letting go felt right.  

Jesus says, “First seek his Kingdom,” and the other things we worry about (in this case, catching fish) “shall be added."  Of course, we were trying our best to offer our flies as naturally as possible to the hefty Rainbows and Browns.  The fish were being ultra selective as they often are on the Dream Stream.

When my daughter decided to sit on the rocks in the sun and rest, I did not try to convince her to keep fishing. I just let her be.  I finally took a few fish.  She fell asleep for a little while and then she got up and said, “Ok, I want to fish now.”  She then made about 10 casts and hooked 4-5 good fish. The fish were large and catapulted out of the water as she quietly giggled each time saying, “I got another one.” 

Fly fishers downstream heard the commotion came up and inquired as to what she was using. One man was particularly gracious to us, complimentary and asked for some tips. I tried my best to offer some help,  but, how was I to explain to this kind soul the way to place a fly in a fishes mouth when I failed to understand myself?

I do not share this little story of a Father daughter outing as any kind of formula on how to catch fish nor on how to live the spiritual life. I am also not saying that all we need to do in life, or in fishing, is to have faith.  The true mysteries of life cannot be reduced to such formulas. Nor can concrete science explain the best things in life. I doubt this type of experience will ever be repeated in my own life, or my daughters, in the same exact manner.

However, it is something to ponder. Can our small choices to, “First, seek His Kingdom,” and the slight changes we might make in our hearts,  change the tapestry of life? As we make a choice to seek, and whatever that might mean for each person, perhaps the entire creation responds in a different way. Perhaps even the fish respond to us differently.These are lofty thoughts and yet, I personally believe, worthy of our consideration.

Interesting that after landing her fifth large fish my daughter humbly said to me, “Dad, I feel I am casting ok and getting the fly where the fish are but I am not this good.”  She added, “It almost feels too easy.” We talked about that for a few minutes on the river without any conclusions. 

If a small window was opened up for us to enter what we might call the “kingdom of God,”  I am quite certain it will all too soon be sealed close again the very next time I fish.  The fish on the Dream Stream are most often difficult to entice and show little mercy toward us who pursue them so whole-heartedly. We can always hope that we might have our hearts in the right place. However, I know myself and chances are I will slip back into frantic striving trying to "force feed" trout. 

I am still not sure exactly what happened on this beautiful, somewhat mystical morning on the Dream Stream. I remain largely ignorant.  I am however, quite convinced,  that on this crisp, Fall morning walking the Dream Stream, “some-thing” happened in which, for a brief window of time we entered a place beyond and yet within our midst, even as the last tricos drifted down the currents and the fish stopped feeding.