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Cawsmic Truths
Drifting off one night, I find myself slipping into the void, a darkness so empty it seems to stretch beyond time. Everything is still until the distant thump of drums and a flickering flame catch my senses. I'm floating down, down toward the sound and heat, and suddenly, there's a bonfire blazing in the heart of a jungle night. Twelve painted tribe members chant and beat their drums in a steady rhythm as I hover unconsciously above the massive fire.
The flames consume me, but they shift, morphing into a young man lost in a dancing trance. I freeze above him, mirroring his movements without thought. The dark shaman moves, and I’m pulled along, following him to a distant lake. Now there’s a line of tribesmen on either side, chanting, drumming, keeping me locked in a daze as we approach the water. At the lake's edge, the men suddenly stop, and the shaman dives into the frigid water, disappearing without a ripple. I hover above the stillness, and then, in a blink, everything shifts.
It’s a bright, warm summer day, and I’m walking along a cobblestone path bordered by a moss-covered stone wall. The path curves around the property of a grand two-story white house, a massive oak tree standing sentinel in the front yard. I feel warm energy beside me, perceiving through layers of time leading to this place, empty except for the path I’m on and another—followed by a radiant woman with a sunny aura. She begins to speak as we walk near each other, but across different times, and I can’t hear her through the layers between us. We walk together, yet apart, until her presence fades, leaving me with the sense that she might be another version of me, from a different life, from the paths I once traveled.
I remember my purpose and make my way to the celestial house, passing children playing in the yard on a tire swing. I walk by them toward the front door, where a few women on the porch greet me warmly. But with the empty paths of reality cutting through, I pass them and go inside. In the kitchen, more women standing around, talking, their joy turning to silence as they notice I can’t hear them. They turn away, sitting at the table as I close the door behind me. The house is empty, the walls white and bare, a single light hanging in the hallway. Suddenly, the door bursts open, and three ageless men, clothed in black and dripping with gold, storm in.
They aim their guns at me and fire, but the bullets miss, phasing through the space between us. Without hesitation, I crack their necks simultaneously, their bodies dropping to the floor. A voice cries out, "Why! How could you do that? He’ll be coming for you now!" But this place feels connected to me, and I know these people aren’t what they seem. I ascend the stairs, passing empty rooms until I reach the one at the end of the hall. The room is stark, a single light casting shadows. I enter the bathroom, glancing out the window at the children playing below. Turning to the mirror, I see nothing—no reflection. I try to shift through the layers, but I find myself in none of them. ...
The flames consume me, but they shift, morphing into a young man lost in a dancing trance. I freeze above him, mirroring his movements without thought. The dark shaman moves, and I’m pulled along, following him to a distant lake. Now there’s a line of tribesmen on either side, chanting, drumming, keeping me locked in a daze as we approach the water. At the lake's edge, the men suddenly stop, and the shaman dives into the frigid water, disappearing without a ripple. I hover above the stillness, and then, in a blink, everything shifts.
It’s a bright, warm summer day, and I’m walking along a cobblestone path bordered by a moss-covered stone wall. The path curves around the property of a grand two-story white house, a massive oak tree standing sentinel in the front yard. I feel warm energy beside me, perceiving through layers of time leading to this place, empty except for the path I’m on and another—followed by a radiant woman with a sunny aura. She begins to speak as we walk near each other, but across different times, and I can’t hear her through the layers between us. We walk together, yet apart, until her presence fades, leaving me with the sense that she might be another version of me, from a different life, from the paths I once traveled.
I remember my purpose and make my way to the celestial house, passing children playing in the yard on a tire swing. I walk by them toward the front door, where a few women on the porch greet me warmly. But with the empty paths of reality cutting through, I pass them and go inside. In the kitchen, more women standing around, talking, their joy turning to silence as they notice I can’t hear them. They turn away, sitting at the table as I close the door behind me. The house is empty, the walls white and bare, a single light hanging in the hallway. Suddenly, the door bursts open, and three ageless men, clothed in black and dripping with gold, storm in.
They aim their guns at me and fire, but the bullets miss, phasing through the space between us. Without hesitation, I crack their necks simultaneously, their bodies dropping to the floor. A voice cries out, "Why! How could you do that? He’ll be coming for you now!" But this place feels connected to me, and I know these people aren’t what they seem. I ascend the stairs, passing empty rooms until I reach the one at the end of the hall. The room is stark, a single light casting shadows. I enter the bathroom, glancing out the window at the children playing below. Turning to the mirror, I see nothing—no reflection. I try to shift through the layers, but I find myself in none of them. ...
