A Mindful Place
‘Do you really want to know where I go?’
‘Close your eyes then. It is dark. It is not just dark, but almost as though there is an absence of light. So very, very dark.
Suddenly there are thick shafts of bright white sunlight piercing the dark at random intervals. They are blinding at first, but your eyes adjust. You are in a room. No, its too big to be a room. A hall, maybe? No, more like a ballroom. There is a faint feel of passed celebrations and merriment in the air. You can feel it dance along your skin.
There is just space all around you. The ceiling is so high you can’t see it even with the shafts of light. You can make out no walls. You start to feel small. Tiny. Insignificant.
All there is is space and silence.
The air is cool against your skin. There is a faint smell of dust, must and something warm. Something warm and metallic. It smells like copper left out in the sun midday in a desert.
The smell of liquid hot copper sends a chill down your spine. You don’t know why until you identify it.
Hot, fresh blood.
Your first impression of where you are is immense space, silence and blood.
You then notice the floor. It is black. Not just black, it is such a dense onyx that the light does not seem able to pierce it. Polished to perfection that it could be liquid. There are spidery fault lines which break the illusion of the liquid onyx floor. Small, slightly elevated scars interweaving forming an unfathomable pattern.
However, you quickly loose interest in the small scars when you notice the monumental scars which deface the beauty of the slightly marred polished onyx floor.
One of these scars is harshly illuminated by a shaft of light, demanding your attention with deep shadows and blinding white light.
The stench of blood is cloying. It sticks to the back of your throat making it hard to swallow without tasting the thick liquid copper.
You try and try to look away from the mountain-like scar but it is all you can see. The harsh contrasts slowly meld together as your eyes adjust. What you thought were rocks, pebbles and mountainside is actually flesh. Dead flesh.
The mountain is made up of fresh mutilated corpses. They are so fresh that decay has not had time to set in.
You can now distinguish individual bodies. You see arms, legs, torsos all ripped to shreds. What gets you the most are those corpses with distinguishable faces staring back at you.
They are watching you with seeing eyes and you are watching them.
The silence is now deafening. The space is threatening to consume you.
You keep looking into those eyes though and what you see brings the taste of bile to your throat.
Those eyes are not looking at you, but reflecting what you knew the moment you made an impression of this place.
There is nothing but space, silence and hot, fresh blood.’