The sun rises on the horizon. I wonder if it is real. Still, it is beautiful. Even if it is only an illusion glaring through my open window. I begin hammering the floor, hoping to disturb the creatures that I heard scuttling about and making racket down below in the cobwebby crawlspaces late last night. As I lie flat and put my ear to the old hardwood floor, I hear them droning their morning music and realize that I am too late. I’ll never wake them now. That constant and strangely lovely sound means they are deep in whatever daylight trance they fall into before the sun rises fully into the sky. If only they would do this at night instead of the agitated evening noise, things would be different around here.

I give up, stand with creaking morning bones and go outside. With great effort, I slide away a concrete lid from the cistern in the back yard to reveal the black liquid within. I hop in, lay back and float, my clothes dissolving with my thoughts and fears and worries. I drift out into vast spaces within my mind, forgetting everything, forgetting who I am, not getting out of the thick liquid until I am sure that the space inside my head is totally clear. They rhythm of my heartbeat in my ears slows and finds its pace. After some hours, I rise naked from the pool and plod towards the old forest, which lies perhaps 100 yards from the cistern in the yard. Even from this distance, I can hear the drums of those that I hope to join today. My mind is clear and my mind is made up. Today will be the day that I find the origin of those drums. And I will become part of that music.

I take a few more steps forward, and the world tilts around me, causing me to stagger and fall. The grass against my body seems to grow impossibly tall around me as I hit the ground with a thud like a sack of dirt. The grass shoots higher and higher into the sky. Eventually, I am left lying in a twilight world, with the tall stalks swaying wildly in a sudden gusts of wind. Small breaks appearing in the vegetation show me a sky darkening with heavy black clouds. I try to stand, but seem to be clasped by the ground. Roots have twined their way through my toes and fingers and around my ankles and wrists, holding my hands and feet firmly to the earth. I am one with the dirt, and feel strangely peaceful. Will they let me go? I long for the forest, for sight of the players of those drums . . . and the cistern lies open still . . . and the creatures drone on still beneath the floors of my house. I lie out back and wait to be released. The rain comes down and I sleep.