To Wake Beyond the Trees

Nothing could keep me from my bed that night. Not the hunger pains in my stomach, nor the sweat that soaked my clothes, reeking like a bad day. I needed to sleep more than anything else, even if dinner and a shower would, without doubt, make it more restful.

I couldn’t say the reasons why I was so hungry or sweat-drenched or sleep-deprived. To tell the truth, I don’t really remember why I was in such a state. There are flashes of memory—glimpses surrounded by a pervasive fog—but nothing substantial, nothing with which to draw any conclusions. I remember entering through my apartment door and longing for nothing more than my bed. Seeing it there, exactly where it should be, was my one true salvation. I dove straight in to be baptized by the blankets.

I dreamed. There was a graveyard, old and overgrown. Dripping candles sat atop each headstone. The wax, white as bone, dripped and ever so slowly coated the anonymous stones. I stood there, for hours it seemed, watching the wax swallow them little by little. All the while I stood there in darkness, being softly broken only by the rich glow of the candlelight. I felt the headstones all to be mine, that they’d have, if I could see them, my name carved into their faces. But I would never know with certainty.

Once the work of the wax was done, all that remained were headstone-sized candles. The small candles that covered the stones with wax, none the smaller, now became wicks themselves. Their flames grew bigger and brighter as the headstones grew more encased. 

I welcomed the brighter glow and realized the graveyard was larger than I thought. At the full reach of my vision I could make out what seemed the edge, all around me, of a thick forest. Within it only more darkness. I wanted nothing to do with the forest, but I knew that along with the graveyard it was mine. Beyond it, whatever may be there, was mine as well.

As I stood there, now taking advantage of the added light, I realized the graveyard, its area, was perfectly circular, with the forest and its tree line surrounding the whole thing. There was no indication of a path, no visible guidance system of any kind, but from within me I could feel a pull toward a certain direction. To wake up from this dream I knew I’d have to follow that feeling. There was no other way, as desperate as I was for one. The forest, I felt, would nearly ruin me.

I needed a torch of some kind, one that would hopefully last longer than needed. For the first time I moved from where I was standing, from a small area of shorter grass into the thicker, knee-high overgrowth of tall grass, bushes, and scattered saplings. I walked past one of the headstone candles toward an ancient, full-grown yew tree. All around me everything was crisp, green, wet, and dripping from what seemed a recent rain. It was beautiful there in the candle-lit darkness, silent and serene. Walking and looking under and around the massive yew, I searched the ground for a fallen branch, the perfect torch stick. Each one I found I picked up and inspected. Most were too small. A few were too long and heavy. The perfect one appeared as if stoically waiting for me to see it, all the while knowing I would. It was resting there behind a thick bush against the trunk of the yew. I picked it up, knowing right away it would carry me through the forest to my waking life.

In the direction I felt within me was right, I walked with my torch stick toward another one of the candles. Getting closer to it, it burned with such warmth, I wanted to sit there for a while. I wanted to stay in the graveyard for as long as I could. There was a simple, flowing beauty to it, teeming with chaotic order, filled with life, death, and rebirth. All in perfect harmony, all understood. There was nothing to be other than at peace. The dream, I felt, could go on. But that feeling, that pull toward my waking life, lifted my hand closer to the candle’s flame. The end of the stick ignited, showing no signs of going out, and I walked away from the warm glow of the graveyard toward the darkness of the forest.

At the tree line, just beyond the candlelight, I started hearing the howls, the shrieks, the moans, all from a legion of unseen voices. They were filled with fear and anguish, with hatred, with deep, wrenching misery. Still, like the graveyard and forest itself, I felt the voices all to be mine. I had to remind myself that all of this—the darkness and beauty of this world, the visions and sensations—all were born from my mind.

Pure silence fell as I pointed my torch forward and disappeared past the first trees into darkness. Faces, bloody and mutilated, casting horrid, mocking expressions, appeared in the glow of my torch with every step. They laughed as they vanished, with deep, demonic laughter, fading as I moved past them. I knew, it seemed, that there would be long, horrible, restless days of this, the end of it all too far away to get excited about. I kept going. As much as I wanted to turn back, I needed to get through the forest, beyond the maze of trees and nightmares.

There were horrors difficult to describe. Slaughtered angels, acts of torture, cries of torment and despair. The forest, an unending labyrinth of numberless dead, identical trees, was choked with the faces of phantoms and demons, showing visions of every kind of suffering, all accompanied by that grisly laughter. Each step was a new nightmare. With only the light of my torch to guide me, I squeezed through tree after tree, keeping my eyes forward. To stop meant getting lost, trapped with all the suffering and ghosts, feeding off the agony in the shadows.

After innumerable miles, hours after countless hours, I came to a clearing, circular like the graveyard but much smaller. Still there I was in the dark, with trees standing guard all around the clearing’s edge. I high-stepped through the tall grasses and bushes and saplings, everything cool, crisp, wet, and dripping, just as before. It took me no time to walk the perimeter and back toward the center, where I stopped and stood next to the only tree in the clearing. All around the lone trunk, in perfect symmetry, were six tall torch sticks, shaped much like mine only longer, standing straight up out of the ground. They were all unlit, circled in perfect order around the tree, which appeared dead. All the branches were bare, though it stood tall, disappearing in the black sky high above the clearing. From within me another feeling, another pull, shifted my attention back to the unlit torches. To wake up out of this dream I needed to light each one. They were my way out of the darkness.

Walking around the tree with my arm outstretched, I lit the long torches one at a time, each one igniting with a powerful thump of combustion. The clearing by now was filled with the all-familiar warm glow of fire light as I approached the last unlit torch. I took a deep breath and set it ablaze. As I did, a deep, dark red glow started growing, emanating, from within the trunk of the tree. The long torches, even my own, began burning bigger and brighter. All the plants in the clearing, the bushes and saplings, the tall grass beneath my feet, radiated with brilliant hues of green.

The tree was now brimming and golden with life, its branches filled with clouds of sturdy green leaves. Within the clouds hung the most luscious-looking red apples I had ever seen. Just above me was a branch with an apple at the very tip. I reached up and plucked it off, turning it around in my hand. It was dew-covered and flawless, and I anticipated its flavor, already tasting its crisp, sweet elegance.

I took the bite.

Pure, white, blinding light.

Will I wake up now?

I’m at my apartment door, longing for nothing more than my bed.

Nothing can keep me from my bed right now. Not the hunger pains in my stomach, nor the sweat soaking my clothes, reeking like a bad day and the smoke of some forgotten fire. To tell the truth, I don't remember why I’m in such a state. There are flashes of memory, all foggy, but nothing I can really piece together.

I just want my bed.

I walk into my apartment, then into my bedroom. My one true salvation, exactly where it should be. A resurrection is soon to come. I dive straight in to be baptized by the blankets. 

I fall asleep and dream. There is a graveyard, old and overgrown. Dripping candles sit atop each headstone.