The Land of the Dead

I'm not sure exactly when the ceremony began. No drums were heard, but there was a fire. The apparitions before my eyes still move and undulate, they linger and bleed. It has been long since I've been here; but the signs can be read, symbols translated- enough for me to remember past visits. Sometimes there's a hint of some design in the situation; as if my reckless id had been planning this all along, behind the shutters and blinds, placing my body where it most needs to encounter itself.

The land of the dead can be both terrifying and entrancing, boring yet liberating; it largely depends on the traveler itself. The idea is to keep moving, following a path of some sort, either at the behest of a master or descending along a more interior route. All I know at this point is that I am here again, and a new becoming is in the works. I will make it serve me again.