🌲 Dream of the Pines

A Vision of Naked Presence

Last night, I dreamed of a forest.

The kind that breathes with you. Where the trees stand like sentinels, ancient and knowing. Where the ground is soft with pine needles and the air hums with silence.

In the dream, I walked barefoot into a clearing. There were men there—bare, unguarded, and radiant. No clothes. No armor. Just skin, breath, and stillness.

They sat in silence, eyes closed, backs straight, hearts open. Not exposed—revealed. Not vulnerable—whole.

I stood at the edge, watching. But something in their stillness called me forward—not with words, but with welcome. I felt the weight of my own layers, the quiet ache of separation. And so, I stepped in. I removed what I wore—not just fabric, but fear. And I sat among them.

The sun rose slowly, casting golden light through the canopy. And in that light, I saw us—not as individuals, but as a circle. A brotherhood of breath. A lineage of presence.

We were not performing. We were remembering.

I woke with tears in my eyes. Not from sadness, but from recognition. This dream was not fantasy. It was invitation.

To return to the forest. To return to stillness. To return to each other.

To shed what no longer protects and stand in what truly connects.

If this dream stirs something in you, let it. Let it guide your next step. Let it remind you that somewhere, deep in the pines, a circle waits—and you belong in it.