It begins, again.

I’m on a pilgrimage, on a long road leading to some unknown destination. Looking behind me there is nothing; it is as if the world has been erased. I cannot go back the way I came. There is, literally, nothing there for me to go back to.

To my left and right are two entirely different scenes. Neither one has any connection, that I can ascertain, to the other. Each side is in a constant state of ebb and flow. There is no consistency to it, no rhyme or reason that is apparent; and if I look at one side or the other for too long, I begin to feel as if I am going mad.

It is only when I am entirely focused on the road directly before me that I can find any sense of calm. Even looking back, to where I have come from, leaves me disturbed. Looking back also encourages me to push forward to get away from my past. Is it my past?

Ahead of me, something calls, drawing me forward. The closer I get, the more urgent it feels. Time seems to be absent here. Day and night do not exist here, only an eternal twilight. There is no indication of a rising or setting Sun to suggest either dawn or dusk is approaching.

As I progress further along this path, I seem to move more quickly. I’m propelled forward by the feeling of dread that grows behind me, which is amplified anytime I look back. If I had a sense of time and distance passing, I might feel more at ease, but I experience neither, and the end of this journey is not in view.

There was no sound, when this dream began. As I’ve moved onward, a hushed murmuring has become noticeable. It commences as an indistinct sound and slowly grows and evolves into voices. I think it’s voices. I can not understand what they are saying, but it sounds like speech.

All around me the voices, for I am sure they are voices, are driving me forward. Some are cries of pain, suffering, loss, and anguish. Others scream at me in vile untempered disgust; the vulgarities voiced are understood by the venom behind them, if not the actual words. Voices are pleading for, salvation(?), something. I don’t know what exactly they are begging for, but it involves me. Above all those voices are the ones driving me hardest. These are the ones calling to me, encouraging me. They hold promise in their tones. I want so badly to find my way to those voices.

The tumult of the combined voices escalates, as does my apparent speed, and I’ve noticed something new. I move towards one side or the of the path depending on how strongly I focus on a particular set of voices. The route is not straight; in fact, it doesn’t exist as an actual trail of any kind. If I allow my point of attention to be drawn away from the positive guidance, I being to drift into horror.

All around me I feel tendrils grasping at me, pulling at me. This is what brought my awareness of how my focus was altering my path, my direction, my destination. With an extreme effort of will, I tune out all the voices but those offering encouragement. The tendrils refuse to let me go. They try to hold me back, to drag me down, to smother me in their vile machinations which will, undoubtedly, lead to my slow and painful end.

Before me, a rising Sun? There is something there, which was not there before. It glows and warms me with tendrils that reach out to me and guide me along with the voices of encouragement. The repugnant whisps of dispair hold tightly for as long as possible before snapping free.

There is a sense of revulsion in me. It must have come from the dark filaments that I thought I had entirely escaped. Did they plant a seed within me? No, I cannot focus on such dark trespasses into my being. I can feel it attempting to pull me away from my path to the light and warmth. Again, with a will, I direct my attention on that warmth before me and let it guide me forward.

The murmuration of dark and foreboding voices fades as my focus becomes sharper, more defined. They don’t go away, but they do ease off and become more bearable. Pain is often like that, I’ve learned. If you can find a focus for your attention, then you have less for the pain, or negative thoughts, that seek to pull you under. This works most of the time, but sometimes it does fail.

I’m within reach of the goal, the warmth, and comfort I’ve been pushing myself to reach. All of my senses are alive with it. In giving over to the sensations of goodness, I’ve allowed my focus to falter. Pain shoots through my being, and I stumble, crashing to the ground, vering off course into...

I wake up, shivering and filled with dread. I had been dreaming, again. I was close, oh so close. But, close to what? I don’t know. The dream is fading, but not the feeling of anxiety that accompanied it as I woke. If only I could remember.