Perchance to dream

THERE’S a place in the corner of my dreams that I long for when the rain is gone and sunlight warms the earth. It’s what Camus called “the invincible summer” within.

A primal urge to escape the rigors of job and home drives many a weary soul to havens in the mountains or the beaches of Southern California, from Santa Barbara to San Diego.

They rush to cabins, campgrounds, hotels, motels or RV parks that await them in retreats where there are no CEOs to direct their lives or domestic demands to control their leisure time. They unwind. They let go. They are all blue sky and summer sun.

But I don’t go there.

I don’t head for any one spot, in fact, because my idea of doing something special in summer is doing nothing. I am not compelled to preserve a block of time to “get away.” Without appearing too Zen-like, I am quite content, as Adlai Stevenson once put it, to “sit under a tree with a glass of wine and watch the dancers.”

Do I do this in the small, cluttered room where I write? Sometimes. Unlike many who toil at home, I harbor no dislike of the job I hold, and no need to run from it. I am comfortable in my garden of words.

But I’m no fool. Writing is hard work, and if I did it every day and every hour of my life, I would, as my grandson points out, run out of words and shrink to nothing. But I don’t have to leave our home to seek my dream-place, my invincible summer within.

I can sit in our new gazebo, a sunlit spot beneath the branches of a timeless oak tree, and listen to music, as I have come to do lately; sometimes in the velvet twilight of a fading day, sipping a martini and exploring the trails that lead to magical horizons of the mind. In daydreams, there are no barriers to travel. Whimsy soars to continents that the body may never reach.

I don’t have to physically take myself anywhere to be content, although I have traveled to Africa and China and Russia and throughout Europe in a quest to explore and learn. But they’re more rigorous trips, not journeys of the soul that ease one’s flutters, but odysseys that challenge the brain.

In summer, the lazy, hazy days, I am more inclined to just, well, veg out. And if I am not basking in the mystical ambience of our gazebo, I am in a special place on the slope of a mountain in Topanga State Park, not far from our home. It is a tiny dot in the vast acreage where one can contemplate a view of clouds and peaks and sometimes the ocean beyond; a spot where time meets distance in a meld of the imagination.

I discovered it a day before heart surgery 22 years ago and have revisited the place often, when a need for peace requires a resurgence of strength. I will return this summer, more than once, and sit alone on a quiet slope and look within as I gaze without, seeking the summer that Camus knew, the one that lies singing in our hearts.

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Al Martinez’s column appears Mondays and Fridays. He can be reached at [email protected], but don’t expect a fast reply during the lazy summer months.

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Inspiration points

You could veg out anywhere, but if you need inspiration:

Topanga State Park: Considered to be the world’s largest wilderness park within the boundaries of a major city, it has 14,000 acres of live oaks, grasslands and breathless views of the Pacific Ocean.

Its 45 miles of paths and fire trails in the Santa Monica Mountains wind into corners and canyons so quiet you can hear your own daydreams.

Horseback riding and mountain biking are allowed in certain areas.

A favorite hike is up a fire trail that begins at the foot of Waveview Drive and continues on as far as your legs will take you.

Where: Reach the park from Pacific Coast Highway or from the Valley up Topanga Canyon Boulevard, about four miles from PCH and eight from the Ventura Freeway. Parking is available in the park for $4 or on the street. (310) 455-2465, www.parks.ca.gov/page_id629.