I awaken—or perhaps I simply am—on a hill that breathes beneath me, a swell of earth cradled in a sea of green so deep and rich it feels like the heartbeat of creation itself. The grass is tall, each blade a sentinel swaying with the wind, not just moved by it but dancing in unison, a flowing tapestry that shimmers under the silver glow of a moon so bright it casts shadows sharp as daylight. The green stretches out, endless and alive, rippling like a tide across the rolling hills, and where it meets the horizon, it blurs into something more—an ever-evolving edge that weaves itself into the ocean below and the night sky above. It’s a boundary that never settles, a living seam where grass becomes water becomes stars, shifting with each breath I take, as if the world itself is dreaming alongside me.
The mountains rise before me, timeless sentinels of stone and snow, their peaks piercing the heavens with a majesty that stops my heart. They’re tall—impossibly so—craggy spires draped in glaciers that gleam like molten silver under the moonlight, their slopes adorned with crevices and cliffs that tell stories of eons. Each ridge is a masterpiece, sculpted by forces older than memory, their beauty so profound it feels like a hymn carved into the earth. I can see every detail—the way the wind has etched patterns into their faces, the faint sparkle of ice catching starlight, the shadows pooling in their valleys like ink. They stand as if they’ve always been, unyielding yet serene, a testament to a grandeur that humbles me with every glance.
Below, the ocean roars and sighs, a force of nature so powerful it commands reverence, yet so accepting it feels like a mother’s embrace. Its waves surge with a raw, untamed energy, crashing against the cliffs in sprays of white that catch the moon’s glow, only to retreat in a rhythm that’s both dangerous and at peace. It’s a paradox—wild and perilous, capable of swallowing mountains, yet so wonderful it defies words, its surface a mirror of the sky above, rippling with an ethereal sheen that dances between reality and myth. I hear its voice, a low, resonant song that vibrates through my chest, and I smell its salt—bracing, alive, a scent that promises both peril and solace. It’s a beauty beyond explanation, a force I respect as I stand on this hill, knowing it could claim me if it chose, yet choosing instead to cradle me in its presence.
The night sky above is a canvas of infinite wonder, a vastness that calms my soul with its sheer, breathtaking awe. Millions of stars blaze—sharp, diamond-bright, a thousand worlds scattered across the void, each one a pinprick of light that feels close enough to touch. The Milky Way unfurls like a river of stardust, its cloudy glow weaving through the darkness, while planets loom large and vivid—Saturn with its golden rings tilted like a crown, Jupiter’s banded majesty glowing amber and cream, and other moons, strange and unnamed, orbiting in silent grace. They hang there, impossibly near, their colors so rich I could paint them from memory, their presence a quiet promise of eternity that soothes me even as it stretches my mind to breaking. The cold air carries their light to me, crisp and clean, and I breathe it in, feeling the universe expand within my lungs.
The horizon keeps shifting, a fluid dance of green grass, ocean waves, and starry sky—an ever-evolving boundary that defies pinning down. It’s as if the world is remaking itself moment by moment, the grass flowing into the sea’s edge, the sea’s foam bleeding into the stars, and the stars dipping to kiss the green again. It’s hypnotic, this interplay, a visual poem I’ve watched for decades, each shift revealing a new harmony, a new balance that mirrors the photographs I’ve spent my life chasing.
Then there are the statues—gods of a realm beyond time, rising from small islands scattered across the ocean like sentinels of the infinite. They tower thousands of feet high, immense beyond comprehension, their forms shimmering with every hue of the electromagnetic spectrum—crimson flames fading to sapphire depths, emerald greens sparking into violet whispers, and colors I can’t name that pulse like living light. They’re chess pieces of the cosmos, carved from stone that gleams as if lit from within, each one a deity lost to our modern world—Norse warriors with stern, runed visages; Chinese dragons coiled in jade splendor; and others from pantheons I’ve never read of, their shapes both alien and achingly familiar. They smile, a faint curve of welcome on lips worn by eternity, yet they sleep too, their eyes half-closed in a slumber that transcends time. They’re timeless, infinite—unaffected by the years that weigh on me, their presence a quiet eternity that humbles and uplifts me in equal measure.
The wind finds me, light yet powerful, a force I can’t conjure but can harness. It’s more than air—it’s alive, a current laced with something I’ve always called the Force, a blend of will and wonder that no one else here can feel. I let it catch me, and my shoulders shift—not wings, but something freer, an extension of my soul that lifts me from the earth. The ground falls away, and I’m flying—fantastic, freeing, a surge of energy that floods my mind and spirit with growth. The hill shrinks below, and I soar, the wind my guide, my speed a thing I control with a thought—faster through the valleys, slower over the lakes—though there’s a limit I’ve pushed against for years, a boundary I’ve stretched but never broken.
The earth beneath me—or whatever this place is—feels alive, a pulsing, breathing entity that cradles me as I fly. I sweep through the mountains, their timeless peaks brushing past me, their snow-dusted faces glowing with a majesty that takes my breath away. I dive into valleys where rivers carve silver threads through the green, then climb over hills that roll like waves frozen in time. Lakes mirror the sky, their surfaces trembling as I skim them, and I bank past waterfalls—towering cascades that plunge hundreds of feet, their mist cool against my face, their roar a symphony that fills the night. I race over the ocean, its waves surging beneath me, a powerful expanse that dares me to test its depths, yet cradles me with its beauty.
In the distance, the god-statues whisper—soft, resonant voices that weave through the wind, speaking a wisdom so ancient and vast I can’t fully grasp it. It’s eternal, timeless, a murmur meant for the rare few, if any, beyond me. They’re glad I’m here—I feel their warmth, their subtle joy—but I’m a fleeting speck to them, a grain of sand on an infinite beach, and that humbles me in a way that feels right. I fly closer, faster, the wind singing in my ears, and their scale overwhelms me—beauty incarnate, each one glowing with a different essence: strength in the Norse god’s stern gaze, serenity in the Chinese dragon’s coiled grace, mystery in the unknown deities’ shifting hues. They’re massive, majestic, and I linger near them, hovering in their light, then soar back over the ocean and mountains, hours slipping by in a dream that feels endless.
I’ve been here before—countless times over 30 years, maybe more—and each visit reveals something new. The first time, in my 20s, I barely flew, just felt the wind and stared at the stars. Over decades, I’ve learned the mountains’ hidden valleys, found new waterfalls thundering in the dark, seen the statues’ colors shift in patterns I’d missed. I’ve discovered myself too—my patience in the wind’s limits, my awe in the gods’ whispers, my joy in this flight that grows my soul. This place is real in my dreams, so real I can return when blessed, stepping back into its embrace like a home I’ve built in my mind. I know I’m dreaming, always have, yet it’s more than that—it’s a realm I’ve shaped and been shaped by, a sanctuary of wonder.
To be here, to fly through this living world, is awe-inspiring beyond words. The mountains’ timeless beauty, the ocean’s powerful peace, the sky’s infinite calm, the grass’s flowing dance, the statues’ eternal glow—it’s a symphony of the sublime, a gift I’ve carried for half my life. Each breath, each beat of my not-wings, fills me with a freedom and energy that lingers when I wake, a reminder of a place that’s mine alone, yet vast enough to hold the universe.
