In the back-country, under a ledge where the moss, succulents, a few wildflowers, and some ferns grow, there is a great place to take a rest. Here under an overhanging ledge where the waterfalls splatter in a pool below, time come to a mesmerizing standstill.

Eyelids lower and lift the veil that obscures these hinterlands of turtle dreams. Wisdom moves slowly, and longevity is not measured in years. Now inside a turtle’s trance, the language is telepathy and feelings, not like the world of words that are common in the hours of doing and thinking.

Looking around where dream turtles roam, there is the sub-world of everything – the mystical turtle understands that divine substance nourishes destiny. They move cautiously on the soil where intentions take root, and the future is born; this is the land where the seeds of thought manifest.

This world is where notions of kindness grow like wildflowers that sway in the gentle wind, where selfish thinking, feelings of malice, or greed become like briars and stinging nettles in a tornado. Awakened perplexed, the turtles are gone, leaving a trail of wisdom, wonderment, and a newfound desire to keep moving forward.