Wayfarer Unisex Hoodie

Beneath me. This ground that is not ground. I pause - do I pause? Time moves strangely here, like butter spread thin.

I listen.

That screaming silence.

Before me spreads what once was - is - might become a place of worship. Of warning. Of waiting. The crystals thrust skyward like fingers grasping at gods. Like spears thrown at tomorrow. Like -

I stop myself.

Light floods this space. Light ends here. I cannot tell which because my eyes - do I have eyes? - see both at once. See neither. See beyond seeing into the realm where sight becomes something else entirely.

The symbols call to me.

Oh, how they call.

In shadow they burn bright as the first star’s birth. In light they drink deep as the last star’s death. I see them with vision that spans dimensions I have no names for, read them in languages that predate meaning.

Voyage, the first symbol whispers into my being.

Journey, the second breathes against my essence.

Elsewhere, the third sighs into the hollow.

They speak without speaking. I hear without hearing. The words arrive in my core, in the spaces between my thoughts, in that quiet place where understanding lives before it becomes knowledge.

A vision unfolds within me -

No.

Erupts -

No.

Becomes me:

Another world. Green where I stand in silver. Warm where I exist in void. The symbols show me doorways, passages, the hidden maps of between. They show me -

Movement.

But I remain motionless. Frozen in the eternal moment of choice. Still as the pause before creation. Still as the breath before the first word of existence.

The crystals sing to me. The light trembles around me. The darkness tastes of metal and possibilities yet unborn.

And from the place where all words are conceived, where all names are whispered into being:

“Wayfarer.”

The word finds me like gravity finding mass. Like recognition finding mirror. Like -

“Wayfarer.”

Again. Again. I understand: this is not what they call me. This is what I am. What I have always been. What I was born to become.

An invitation written in my very being.

Spelled out in light that speaks darkness. Carved in symbols that read themselves through me. Inscribed in the space between one heartbeat and the next, where all journeys wait to be chosen.

I face the doorway that is not doorway but possibility. The path that leads everywhere by going nowhere at all.

And I almost -

Almost

Step forward into the divide.

Crack.

The ground beneath me. Waiting.

To become a Wayfarer.

Or to remain still in the space between worlds, reading symbols that speak of journeys I might never take.

The choice trembles in the air.

As light.

As shadow.

As me.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​