After a very restless night where there was no peace for neither mind, spirit, nor body, I finally fell asleep in exhaustion. When I opened my eyes, I saw myself on a storm assaulted cliff in the middle of a moonlit night. The wind, thunder, and lightning was behind me, over the mainland. In front of me about twenty feet away was the cliff’s edge. Only unyielding darkness was beyond the cliff.
No sky, no stars, no clouds, no wind. Nothing.
At the very cusp of the cliff was a figure. It wore my face and wore my figure but wasn’t me. It wasn’t trying to portray itself as me, nor was it trying to replace or mock me. Somehow I knew this was just the only way I could understand what I was seeing.
The figure was staring directly into the void. Plaintive eyes were fixed on a point that did not exist. It did not speak, but its yearning emanated from it in waves.
It wants to go.
It wants to go over there.
It doesn’t have the [inertia/movement/impetus/power] to even leave the cliff much less make any kind of forward motion.
The figure turned away from the void and faced me. Empty eye sockets had long exhausted the store of tears.
Please. Help me get across.
In my mind’s eye I see the planetary hexagram again. Mars’ station is vibrant and pulsing with light. The light starts to move towards Saturn’s station, but all it can accomplish is illuminating the border between Mars’ station and the path leading away.
The Path of Cheth.
…
Well, fuck.