Halcion

Indoctrination. Lazy brushes of wheat gently brushing onto each other into a faint rhythm; within it, you can hear Mother Nature hushing you into a daydream. Shhhh.

You dream of gods and goddesses.

Will they be draped in pristine white cloth and crowns of rosemary, wielding oak staves and with bodies of athleticism? Will they speak of pure ideas in a bustling city hall, accompanied by a harp and quiet piccolo in an invigorating minuet?

Perhaps you may picture men gowned in heavy, burgundy, hooded robes gifted by Seraph’s followers on their visit from the heavens. Heavily bearded and with baritone voices, they chant in unadulterated Latin in a harmonious and angelic chorale as they march through their routine of walking through forests and past rivers of the clearest, yet lifeless waters.

Or, instead, perhaps you fancy the warm smell of nag champa, with strands of smoke dancing in a soft, smooth whisk towards the sky. You see men and women in loincloths, dawned with the most beautiful feathers as bracelets and wolf-tooth necklaces that shine with the moonlight. They sit in silence, listening to the voice of Terra.

Do you, instead, stand in the midst of a ephemeral river blooming with lotus flowers and black-eyed fish, with nothing but water extending beyond any horizon and a soft smell of fresh water and algae? Waiting patiently, there is not a single humanoid in the realm of rest, and nothing but a soft light to remind you that the only parts of your body preserved are your five senses: sight, smell, touch, hearing, taste.

Or do you dream of nothing at all? Just a simple, blank slate with no existing beings or objects to feel. No sounds, no pictures, no scents, no textures. A catastrophic absence of existence; a moment of nothingness. A world with no dimensions, no resource to discover, no words. Claustrophobic, breathless and concealing. There is nothing else to escape from this realm.

Open your eyes.

Where are you?