The Phosphene Path

You open your eyes. You look down and notice a white dot. Pure white! A white liked you’ve never imagined. Like the sun on new snow, but 100 times cleaner. It almost hurts to look at it. You can’t see your feet, or any of your body at that. Looking around you see space. Infinite, everlasting space. Complete and utter darkness. Just empty space. You turn around in your confusion, looking for something to follow. There’s nothing. All you can see is that white dot below you. Realizing there is no point in searching for anything, you close your eyes. Phosphene! This word pops into your brain. The shapeless colors you see when closing your eyes. They seem to lead a path. It looks like mist, in the form of track. You walk, eyes still closed, following the phosphene trail. The ground feels soft, like your lawn after its rained. And the air is lukewarm.
It has been what seems to be hours since you’ve started to follow this path. You begin to think, Am I going mad? Should I open my eyes? Should I continue to walk? You decide to continue on your journey. The phosphene path has grown ever more intricate. It looks less like mist, and more put together. Almost like a sidewalk. “Crack!” The sound of a twig breaking sounds behind you. Instinctively, you jerk around, and open your eyes. But you feel a pinch on the back of your neck, and you’re standing back on top of the white dot. You wonder, What just happened? Have I trekked all that way for nothing? Did I get anywhere? Am I back where I started? You look around, and still, all you can see is space. You close your eyes and it seems your suspicion is correct. The path is mist again. So, you begin to walk.
After a while, you hear another crack. But having fallen for this once before, you ignore it and continue to walk. By now the path has the distinct features of a brick road. You can see the lines of each multi-colored brick. And, very suddenly, a scenery begins to form. Flowers swirl around the brick path, and trees protrude from the ground. It looks like a park you’ve wandered in your childhood.
As you continue to follow the path, you notice a bench. Looking at the swirling colors of greens, purples, and blues, almost makes you nauseous. After staring at the bench for about 10 seconds, A figure appears. A man. An old man. He sits on the bench, smoking a pipe. The smoke coming from it swirls in whisps of color. The more you look at the old man, the more detailed he becomes. You can see all the hairs of his long, curly beard. They seem to be swirling, spiraling about his chin. He motions for you to sit next to him. You do so. He offers you a puff of his pipe. You accept, hoping it will help clear your thoughts. You hold the pipe, not yet bringing it to your lips. He looks at you and you look at him. The darkness around you feels tight. The flowers and trees only add to the ominous feeling of this situation. You look into the old man’s eyes, and you notice something. All the colors around you and making up his body, are moving, and constantly changing, but his eyes. His eyes are a solid, icy blue. Not moving nor changing. Staring right into your soul. You look away, bring the pipe to your lips, and puff. You can feel the color filling your lungs! Its like it stimulates all five senses! An indescribable feeling! You turn to the man, not yet releasing this feeling, and listen. He opens his mouth and speaks. “This is only the beginning.” But the sound comes not from the man, but from inside you. You finally blow out the smoke and feel his voice resonating inside of you. And almost immediately, your eyes open.
You’re back at the white dot. The space seems to be taunting you. You feel yourself filling with rage. He tricked me! That old fool tricked me! You close your eyes and storm down the misty, phosphene path. You hear the crack and ignore it. The path grows more intricate, but in a much different way. You are now walking on what looks like a stone pathway, becoming more and more cracked and damaged as you go on. Again, the scenery begins to form. But not that of flowers and trees, but thorn bushes and rocks. The bench forms yet again, but the man sitting upon it seems distorted. You look at him, and notice his eyes are dark. Pitch black. He looks almost like an empty shell. You decide to put it out of your mind and continue on. The phosphene is getting brighter and brighter, as you go. But eventually, you reach a building. A huge, frightening building, with a pair of tall doors. You enter. As you walk in, you notice huge, glowing paintings hanging from the walls, none of which you can identify. The ground is hard, like the floor of a cellar, and the air smells like rust. You finally see a very luxurious looking couch. You walk toward it, but yet another figure appears. A man. A young man. He is sitting in this beautiful couch, smoking a pipe. He motions for you to sit next to him, and you do so. He offers you his pipe. You accept, unthinking. You do the same as you did earlier, holding it, but not yet bringing it to your lips. You look at the young, clean shaven man. His figure is swirling just as the old man was. Except his eyes! Those solid icy blue eyes! You bring the pipe to your mouth, inhale the beautiful smoke, and feel him saying, “It’s too late to go back.”
You release the smoke, open your eyes, and all is gone. You will never return to the white dot, and you will never have another walk down that phosphene path.