I find myself in the woods. It’s autumn, the leaves are orange and brown, and the ground is covered with them. The trees are majestic and tall: maple, oak, and redwood. The light filters through them with a soft glow. It seems to be near dusk. The ground slopes gently upward, and as I look back I see that I am near the edge of the trees. No. The hill slopes down to a small path. At least, it seems to be a path. There is gravel or signs of travel, just a small flat surface before the ground slopes up again on the other side.
There is no sound. Not the chirp of a bird, or the chatter of a squirrel, nor even the sound of the wind which is blowing the leaves. Even as I walk towards the path I hear not the sound of the leaves under my feet. Reaching the path, I notice yet another oddity: I cannot feel the wind either. In fact, I cannot feel if I am cold or warm. I do not smell the normal smells of the forest. I seem to be robbed of all my senses, except that of sight.
Up until now, more concerning was the incongruity of my surroundings, yet now a single though permeates my thoughts. Where am I? It seems so familiar, and yet foreign as well. The feeling I have been here before is overwhelming, yet, even as I examine this, my mind is scanning memories, insisting otherwise. Such contradicting emotions! My heart tells me I must have, yet all reason and sanity say otherwise. What does it mean? Is this some memory that has long lay dormant in the confines of my subconscious? If so, what could have triggered its appearance?
If it isn’t a memory, then how did it come to be? What could have cause such a rift in my consciousness to create such a place? A world that you can see, but not feel, taste, smell, or hear. Someplace so set apart from a normal reality that one is forced to conclude it isn’t real. Even in a trance, one would have some small semblance of normalcy, would they not? If you are in a dream and you are frightened, then the logical thing is to tell yourself it isn’t real. It is true that many times you do not realize it is a dream, but in many cases the dream is so bizarre that you can only come to that conclusion.
But wait, something is changing. As I stand gazing at the trees, I feel the first faint wisp of wind upon my face. It was so faint, at first, that I could barely understand what was happening. Now it is a cool breeze upon my face, just like the last gust of Fall before the winter sets in. I can smell the air now. The familiar scents of the forest permeate the air: the musk of the leaves, and a small trace of distant rain. The crunch of the leaves beneath my feet reaches my ears. The wind in the trees sounds like the roar of the ocean, yet steadier and less booming.
The sense of familiarity returns stronger than ever. I know I have been here before. As I look towards that first hill upon which I stood, suddenly my gaze is locked. I cannot cast my gaze anywhere but towards a small section of the hill. A single tree is in the center of my vision: a maple, its branches swaying in the wind. Beyond, the first section of the forest stands like a row stoic sentinels. To the left the hill slopes down and out of my sight. The breeze blows a few leaves down the hill. The impression that there is something important about that spot resounds greatly in my mind. Why?
The wind brings a new sound. Laughter. It is gone. Wait, there it is again. This time it sounds like the laughter of children. It comes and then is carried away again on the wind. Coupled with this, my emotions step into hyperactivity. Suddenly, all semblances that I shouldn’t know this place are wiped away. I do know this place. I do not know how, but I am absolutely sure I have been here before. With this realization comes another: there should be someone there on the hill. I do not know who, but I know it to be true. The playful nature of the laughter suggests that the missing person might be a child. Or was a child. Someone I knew long ago?
I think that I must be the other. Yes. I was the other child on that slope. Someone very close once played there with me. A person who’s identity escapes me and whose very presence I had forgotten. For now I am certain that this is a memory, only lacking certain parts. Where is this missing friend? If they were so close, how could I have forgotten them? Repressed memories, perhaps? Even as these thoughts invade my mind, I am overcome with the greatest sadness imaginable. It is so overwhelming I fall to the ground. It is some kind of indefinable longing for something I cannot remember. An urge to do things I once did, to be with people I once knew, or to find this place once more.
Hot tears roll down my cheeks, and I suddenly find myself sobbing. Why was I brought here? Where is this sad and yet wonderful place? How can I not remember something so important?
I lay on the ground, paralyzed. My mind has gone blank. I see without comprehension. The sky is turning dark. The memory is fading away.
Up until now, more concerning was the incongruity of my surroundings, yet now a single though permeates my thoughts. Where am I? It seems so familiar, and yet foreign as well. The feeling I have been here before is overwhelming, yet, even as I examine this, my mind is scanning memories, insisting otherwise. Such contradicting emotions! My heart tells me I must have, yet all reason and sanity say otherwise. What does it mean? Is this some memory that has long lay dormant in the confines of my subconscious? If so, what could have triggered its appearance?
If it isn’t a memory, then how did it come to be? What could have cause such a rift in my consciousness to create such a place? A world that you can see, but not feel, taste, smell, or hear. Someplace so set apart from a normal reality that one is forced to conclude it isn’t real. Even in a trance, one would have some small semblance of normalcy, would they not? If you are in a dream and you are frightened, then the logical thing is to tell yourself it isn’t real. It is true that many times you do not realize it is a dream, but in many cases the dream is so bizarre that you can only come to that conclusion.
But wait, something is changing. As I stand gazing at the trees, I feel the first faint wisp of wind upon my face. It was so faint, at first, that I could barely understand what was happening. Now it is a cool breeze upon my face, just like the last gust of Fall before the winter sets in. I can smell the air now. The familiar scents of the forest permeate the air: the musk of the leaves, and a small trace of distant rain. The crunch of the leaves beneath my feet reaches my ears. The wind in the trees sounds like the roar of the ocean, yet steadier and less booming.
The sense of familiarity returns stronger than ever. I know I have been here before. As I look towards that first hill upon which I stood, suddenly my gaze is locked. I cannot cast my gaze anywhere but towards a small section of the hill. A single tree is in the center of my vision: a maple, its branches swaying in the wind. Beyond, the first section of the forest stands like a row stoic sentinels. To the left the hill slopes down and out of my sight. The breeze blows a few leaves down the hill. The impression that there is something important about that spot resounds greatly in my mind. Why?
The wind brings a new sound. Laughter. It is gone. Wait, there it is again. This time it sounds like the laughter of children. It comes and then is carried away again on the wind. Coupled with this, my emotions step into hyperactivity. Suddenly, all semblances that I shouldn’t know this place are wiped away. I do know this place. I do not know how, but I am absolutely sure I have been here before. With this realization comes another: there should be someone there on the hill. I do not know who, but I know it to be true. The playful nature of the laughter suggests that the missing person might be a child. Or was a child. Someone I knew long ago?
I think that I must be the other. Yes. I was the other child on that slope. Someone very close once played there with me. A person who’s identity escapes me and whose very presence I had forgotten. For now I am certain that this is a memory, only lacking certain parts. Where is this missing friend? If they were so close, how could I have forgotten them? Repressed memories, perhaps? Even as these thoughts invade my mind, I am overcome with the greatest sadness imaginable. It is so overwhelming I fall to the ground. It is some kind of indefinable longing for something I cannot remember. An urge to do things I once did, to be with people I once knew, or to find this place once more.
Hot tears roll down my cheeks, and I suddenly find myself sobbing. Why was I brought here? Where is this sad and yet wonderful place? How can I not remember something so important?
I lay on the ground, paralyzed. My mind has gone blank. I see without comprehension. The sky is turning dark. The memory is fading away.
