Mist

Leaving a house at winter dawn, going out of a commuter town with its loud voices and moving objects. Out of this noisy, messy picture.

Reach its outskirts as the mist rolls in. You see it hanging, hiding secrets and offering mysteries. Whispering silence invites you in, and you accept the invitation. You walk towards it; you reach the borderline between two worlds: the one you consider reality and the other. You don’t know, you’re not sure what it is, but somehow you’re not afraid because you’re hearing echoes of something familiar, like distant memories. You cross the border.

The mist accepts you, it’s thickening around you. You breathe it in with frosty air, it shoots strait into your veins, into your brain, it becomes part of you. You become part of it.

Faint murmurs become clear voices, blurred shadows turn into distinct images. Nothing is a secret, nothing is a mystery. You look back. Reality is obscure, it is alien, it’s almost forgotten, it’s almost nonexistent.

You float. You don’t see the ground nor the sky anymore; moreover, you don’t expect to see any. You are in the Mist. You levitate through it. You’re overwhelmed by it, morphed into it. You’re in a state where you don’t need to ask, to learn—you know. You know, you translate and decipher, picking the answers from the depths of universe wells.

You’ve always been there, always been a part of it.

You don’t notice when streetlights start to cut through the thinning swirls of mist. You wander along the streets you’ve walked so many times, but now they seem vaguely familiar. The usual shapes and sounds of a commuter town wake you up from a mystical dream.

Dream is coming to an end. If it was a dream. What was it? You smile…because you know that..

You’ve always been there, always been a part of it.