Veritas | Meditative Adventure | Chiron Ep1:The Waking Dream

So how we're going to begin is you're going to sit comfortably,

However that means to you.

It could be legs crossed,

Could be sitting in a chair,

Whatever it is,

Sit somewhere comfortably that you feel relaxed and comfortable.

And you're going to close your eyes and you're going to take three deep breaths.

Deep breath in,

Count to four.

Deep breath out,

Count to four.

And each time you exhale,

You're going to try and relax your body a little bit further.

So you're going to inhale,

Pause,

Exhale,

Pause.

So as you're doing this and you're relaxing,

It's in those pauses between breaths where we're going to go.

That is where your creativity meets your imagination,

Meets your subconscious.

So let's see what awaits you in the spaces between breaths.

Wind.

The first thing you notice is the sound of the wind.

As you slowly open your eyes,

You drink in the sight of open sky.

This is quickly followed by panic as it dawns on you that you are hanging from the edge of a cliff.

The sound you heard was the wind twisting and turning across the sky,

Teasing and laughing at you.

Terror is a funny thing.

It is a tidal wave of sensation that twists your gut and seizes the mind.

Things like curiosity or problem solving fade to black while you are convinced that your fingers won't hold.

Breathing becomes difficult,

So you strain harder,

Which just causes hyperventilation.

This in turn causes your grip to become even more precarious,

Sadly manifesting the prophecy of doom which you yourself proclaimed.

It is a testament to your mind that a small part of you recognizes this and slows your breathing down.

Focus.

Just in and out.

In and out.

One more time.

After a moment,

Your breathing slows and your mind clears enough to get to work.

You open your eyes and lift your cheek from the cold rock of the cliff.

Slowly you turn your head and look first one way and then the other.

It is actually a beautiful day.

Clear blue sky warms your face and the juxtaposition of that notion in comparison to your current predicament is so beautifully ironic.

An eagle cry pierces the serenity.

You can't see it,

But it sounds close.

There is a finality to it,

As if signaling an ending of sorts.

Your fingers are starting to cramp,

But you don't dare move them.

So it is actually almost a relief when one hand slips.

The relief is immediate,

But fleeting.

You are going to fall.

Time slows as first one hand lets go and then the other.

And the last thing you see is there,

Carved into the face of the cliff right in front of you,

Is a crocodile,

A wolf,

And an eagle.

Then you are falling.

With a cry you sit up.

You were dreaming.

You were in your bed.

Sweat drips from your brow and the soft fur blankets suddenly feel oppressive.

What a way to wake up.

Most dreams are fleeting,

A mosaic of color and sound that fade as you awake.

But this?

This felt so real.

You stand up and run your fingers through your hair to shake out the last remnants of sleep.

Pulling on some clothes,

You step out of your tent into the cool caress of morning air.

There is the weighty silence of a world not yet awake,

Broken only by the occasional birdsong.

You are standing amongst a circle of tents within a jungled clearing.

Huge trees transcend into the heavens,

Their branches interlocking in a canopy that covers the sky.

The intermittent sunlight piercing through the leaves is quite striking.

You begin to walk along your camp.

Not quite sure where you are going yet.

Something drives you to move.

The lazy smoke of smoldering fire long sends out as the only movement and then you are past your camp.

Ahead of you lies jungle.

Instinctively,

A part of you resists,

Leaving the safety of the clearing and yet,

The faint outline of a path through the thick bush beckons you.

With a deep breath,

You sigh out your hesitation and surrender.

Forward it is.

When you are uncertain of your surroundings,

Your senses heighten,

Meaning that the sound of your feet snapping twigs and undergrowth seem defining.

Even in the morning,

The heat has started and sweat tickles your brow and dampens your arms.

Time seems to fade as you are lost in these senses,

So you are almost surprised when you pierce the jungle's edge.

The soft soil of the jungle is replaced by the cold,

Hard finality of rock.

In the distance,

A giant rock looms,

A leftover from an ice age long gone.

It is huge and looks more like a small mountain than a rock.

You are standing on what must have been the path this monstrosity traversed as it traveled to its final resting place.

You feel your destination is upon you and with eyes forward,

You step forward.

Time flows different when you are aligned with a sense of purpose,

However mysterious that may be.

The universe resonates with each step in a way that reflects infinite possibilities and if you are truly open,

You glimpse a multiverse of futures.

It is no wonder that you find yourself at the base of the rock with little recollection of traveling there.

The rock face is smooth,

Worn down by thousands of years of wind and rain.

The exception is a crack in the face scarring an otherwise perfect canvas.

No,

Not a crack,

An entrance.

You find yourself standing at the opening.

It is narrow.

You'll have to turn sideways to get through.

It seems unnatural.

With one last breath in,

You turn and begin to edge yourself through.

The entrance is not so narrow that you can't breathe,

But it is narrow enough that your clothes are dirtied and probably torn.

It is more the psychological burden of the dark,

Cramped space that weighs on you,

Still ever forward.

It is the same feeling as your dream,

Focus in motion in a twisted battle against panic.

If this particular battle wasn't so all-encompassing,

One might pause to wonder why battle at all.

What is the drive that propels us forward?

Perhaps if you knew,

You wouldn't be here.

At last,

The claustrophobia of the narrow entryway gives way to an open cavern which you discover by way of falling flat on your face.

More graceful than most entrances,

You hope.

Here you can see a faint glow of light from within the cavern.

There are glow worms everywhere,

Illuminating a complex dance of light and texture.

It is the starry sky from within.

More confident with each step,

You make your way through the cave.

Its size is staggering.

Is the entire rock mountain hollow?

Gradually you progress to what feels like the center of the cavern,

A place where the concentration of light seems to be steadily increasing,

A nexus of life and energy in otherwise cold rock.

And that's when you see it.

A staircase.

It is old,

Ancient even.

There are steps that have crumbled and others that are worn smooth,

But this is definitely man-made.

Somebody put this here for a reason.

The staircase ascends to an unknowable place.

No light penetrates the summit.

And yet you find yourself taking the first step without qualm.

Here you are,

And up you will go.

Up and up you climb.

It is actually helpful that it is so dark,

Otherwise the height at which you find yourself may be worrisome,

Or at least disorienting.

The cavern itself is silent save for the faint echo of your boots on the stone,

Like the beat of a drum announcing your presence.

Step,

Step,

Step,

Step.

Your concentration is broken by the sudden lack of steps,

Signaling you have reached the top.

More cautious now,

You look around,

Straining your senses for anything other than the dark.

There is something.

Stepping forward,

The dark gives way to a faint silhouette of a person.

He is completely still.

Even as you grow closer,

You see he is sitting on a giant throne carved all in stone.

The significance of this idol is not lost on you.

It is not until the man opens his eyes that you are even sure he is alive.

His willowy beard hangs loosely,

Giving the look of a wizened old wizard.

But it is his eyes that hold your attention.

They are pure white with no pupil,

And they glow.

The man with the glowing white eyes finally speaks.

I have not met a traveller in some time.

If you are worthy,

Tell me.

Why are you here?

You swallow.

Truthfully,

I do not know.

I was compelled to seek this place.

The man pulls a staff from alongside his throne.

It is intricate and carved with the head of a dragon.

Once.

Twice.

Three times he slams the staff against the ground and then gestures beyond his throne.

The meaning is clear.

You spear a glance and then step forward.

The darkness begins to swirl together.

Points of light dart in and out,

And you feel as though you were falling,

Or at least shifting to another place.

And then just as sudden you feel heat on your face.

You are beyond the cavern walls,

And a great dragon fills your sight.

Its scales are black and shiny,

Giving its sinewy body a shadowed appearance,

As it is only partially visible against the dark sky.

The ground is scorched.

Nothing lives but the charred remnants of a few trees.

A small lake reflects the moonlight off to one side,

But it is the eyes of the dragon that freeze you in your tracks.

They are red,

And they are death incarnate.

The dragon is focused down,

Flames billowing from its snarling mouth,

And beneath those,

A figure crouches.

Their armor is discarded,

And their shoes are gone.

Only a tattered shirt and pants remain.

A shield raised above their head is the only thing that blocks the dragon fire from incinerating them where they stand.

They are on their knees now,

And they strain with the effort of holding off the fire.

No!

You scream as the scene shifts,

And suddenly you are back in the cavern.

The man with the white eyes stands before you now,

Anxious even.

What did you see?

He asks quietly.

I saw death,

You say.

I saw death and hopelessness in the face of an impossible foe.

The man is silent.

Pity,

He finally says and turns away.

Wait!

You cry out,

Reaching to grasp his shoulder.

With a blur,

He turns,

And you see stars as the side of his staff rings against your head.

A second blow knocks you to the ground.

How dare you come here before you were ready,

He sneers.

Groggily you rise to your knees,

Blood bleeding from one ear.

I don't understand,

You sniff.

Go forth to the swamp.

Perhaps you will find the answers you seek there.

His kick hits you square in the chest and sends you rolling back down the stairs.

End over end you fall,

Bruising and tearing flesh and cloth,

Until at last you land in a heap at the bottom.

There is pain,

But you are alive.

Nothing seems to be broken.

And then,

There is darkness.