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.