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[music] I remember the eyes of youth.

Everything is mystery.

Brilliance and all born in the heart of every breath.

A world alive on the edge of an ever curling wave.

Every sense thriving on the infinite wealth of a moment.

If you seen the winter's first great snow through a child's

eyes, you have known true happiness.

I remember a bottomless freedom.

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[music] one day I woke up to find, that

those perfect winter morningsat had melted and gone.

Young joys evaporated.

Muddied in the heat of stress and

obligation.

We get lost in the doubt of so many forgotten days, and that

great wave breaks apart into dream and memory.

What happened to that simple joy?

Where do we find the freedom?

The time stole away.

I had no real plans and even less money.

There was only a direction.

The fire I had lost, I felt the distant heat of it still

flickering way out beyond the ragged rim of the normal and the

accepted.

And so I went in search of the untamed. The astranged. The wild

few, tending the flame.

I went north towards a half forgotten dream.

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[music] change was in the north wind

[music] change was in the north wind

revealing new color, whispering impossible promises.

Great things were happening that I could not miss.

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I left my life by the roadside, and set off on foot through the

woods. Following the thin thread of some nearly buried track.

One direction but north.

Drifting with the tireless snow.

Then for a moment the sun broke through. I found myself in aoke

world bigger and grander than all of imagination.

Color and life vibrating in everything. Falling in the

smallest pieces from heaven, down to earth.

Just what sort of wonder could this new world hold?

The storm moved back in, but not before I have seen the

smoke of a distant fire.

[music] I found a place

in mountain myth.

They called it vahalla.

In north lore those who fell in battle were

lifted up on angel's wings and brought to a kingdom of delight

for all eternity.

The souls here came from the city. From the road.

From places they'd long forgotten.

They were those who'd fallen on the battlefield of a modern way.

Who tried to fit in the cube but had been swept aside by society.

They found their way here on wings of cosmic fortune,

and now indulged on the raw pleasures of the winter

afterlife. These were the forgotten few who

had fully cast their lot into a simple emotion felt in the

simplest of seasons.

They offered themselves up to the only thing that never lead

them astray.

The absolute honesty of winter.

[music] the leader of this funky

tribe is a man who called himself rasheek.

Never had I met such a high caliber outlaw.

He was a boy locked in a man's body.

Eccentric, playful invincible.

The world said that people like him were crazy.

But he didn't much care for the opinion of the world.

So he wondered off and built his own.

He could probably tell it better than me.

Hello, darlings, I have got hiding spots everywhere.

You know the trees full of stuffs

anything a man could want.

I have got food for twenty winters.

If you like herring.

I love herrings.

And I love golf.

It's a game for gentlemen.

An under appreciated winter past time.

One thing I don't like is work, but someone

has to pay for the herring and every sunday, I ride to the

job and professional life.

Maybe being a coach is not so bad.

In my world, you just listen to the kids.

Kids don't care about taking chances about hurting taking

themselves.

They just go.

Theyl have seen kid courage, it's been sitting in our bones

waiting for us to stop worrying and take the jump.

So would you like a lesson?

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The free-est spirited in camp lived a girl named ela.

She floated on grace on her own without any of the world's

weight that we all accumulate.

Her way was as smooth and sure as gravity. Running down through

the mountains like quicksilver.

No one knew where she came from or where she was going and I

doubt she did either.

She pulled from the deep well of instinct moving to the rythym of

a simple song.

Think and it will be.

She saw all of the possibility to make this life her own.

My father used to teach me to play with strangers.

To not be afraid of what I didn't know.

He taught me to howl at the moon.

The only difference between us and the wolves is a couple of

hairs.

We all bleed the same blood.

Winter has a way of washing the layers bringing us back to what

we are all supposed to be.

Creatures of the earth.

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[music] the call of vahalla was

[music] the call of vahalla was

irresistible.

Soon it was the closest thing I had to a home.

[music] with the passing of the days, I

fell into that family as if they were my own.

Moving with the gentle rythyms of the snow

and the extatic surges of the tribe to weird for the world

outside [music]

[music] vahalla, a beacon in the

night.

Its flames slowly spread and took on a life of their own

unique to every eye.

The mountains gave each what they needed in their own way,

speaking to them in their native tongue, filling in the gaps in

their lives until their souls were white hot and burning full.

Life there asked you for nothing, but to find out who you

were and to set that person free.

With every dawn that created valhalla. A man named

yama, quietly carried that fire from night,

into day.

[music] early in the morning when

nature is fast asleep, the animal in us also sleeps.

We are still in the world of dreams.

From which reality can grow.

Every day is new.

It's a new chance to live, breathe and to feel.

With my mind and heart, I am alive.

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There was more life and wild character in

vahalla than the rest of the world that I had

known before it.

They had taken different paths but each lead here to the same

dawning and understanding.

That morning, the mountains told me I reached a turn in my own

path.

I felt the softest tremors of the earth with perfect clarity.

Everything was in the right.

Swaying in an ageless rhythm and the pure and free forever of one

winter morning, I had last viewed the world through the

lost eyes of my youth.

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[music] change was in the wind.

[music] change was in the wind.

The evening was warm, all bones ached and those who knew

spoke the dread word, rain.

The season was coming to an end.

Our tribe gathered for one last offering to the winter night.

Hey, man, let's go get some love.

Welcome to funky town.

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[music] I woke up the next morning to

[music] I woke up the next morning to

a dissolving dream.

In the wake of that feverish night, the rains have come and

washed away the place leaving behind that old familiar void.

Some innocence have been lost in the dark now turned to rot.

Nothing would last.

That was the harsh reminder of the melt.

That was the harsh reminder of the melt.

So that morning while the camp slept off the night's

delirium, I packed my bag and left for vahalla. Returning

to my home, my only home, the road.

I went north.

Always to the wild north.

There was an ease and purity in putting my thumb to the road,

drifting smoothing entering the flow of

lives on the move.

Trading our hopes and memories.

I road the side man anxious to tell the stories of their

own adventures long gone by.

The raw lands and untold miles traveled. The friendships and

the shameless freedom.

The exhaustion and the joy all now bottled together in a faded

past.

The lives in those memories and the life I live now separated by

so many years were little different.

And when those old eyes looked at me, I saw the same glow with

which I regarded my own youth.

They told me of a place to the north where winter in its purest

form never ended.

A land beyond change frozen in time.

And so when I finally reached the end of the road, I bartered

the last of what I had for supplies and one last lift north

as far as man could go.

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[music] I climb mountains and saw

things that few would know how to imagine surrounded by beauty

and grandeur.

A lonely existence in the heart of endless winter.

And then a storm came and swallowed everything.

For days, I lived in white.

Lost in memory.

I found vahalla in such a storm.

How would I remember that place years later, the collection of

souls in that camp.

All as wild and rare as each snowflake that beat against my

tent.

In that storm, I could see the entire diversity of human life

dancing in front of my eyes.

I was enveloped by and connected to each of those crystals, and

all of the miles they had traveled

the clouds and water they once the rivers, the ocean, thence

lakes we all drank from. Where had a snowflake been?

In what form?

What memories did it hold?

Each was a thread between me and the wildness of

this entire earth.

Its ancestral memories sewn deep in the feathers of each

dendrite.

Long ago I had seen the freedom of

countless lifetime in that simple ever

changing star of water and ice.

I saw now that the same freedom had never left life.

But had only changed forms as I grown working itself into the

cracks of the road I had traveled, into the

breaths of those who had guided me along it, into the footprints

of those who paved the way.

Every step of life fromway.

Beginning to end was just a new chance to see it again through a

changing set of eyes. Passing from one generation to the next

and back again. That beautiful legacy of what it could mean to

live free. As the storm finally broke. I

saw that change was the beauty in the heart of all things, and

then I finally had a home to go back to.

But first there was three feet of fresh.

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[music] it was the celebration of a

[music] it was the celebration of a

long winter lived well.

Each of those souls would scatter heading on their own

path for the summer months.

But every turn of the season brought one an equal wonder, and

every ending birthed new opportunity.

Each breath was another chance to dance.

Each breath was another chance to dance

the camp was all but gone.

Packed up and stowed away until the return of the autumn snows.

The mountains whispered a last ode to a long winter.

A parting song for recycling soul.

There will always be brilliance all in magic running through

life for those who wish to see it.

The eyes of youth were never met for the young alone.

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[music] we had no plans, no money and

no direction.

We let the mountains guide the way, drifting in their timeless

flow.

And I wonder, what will you see?

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