July 12th
I arrived this morning. It's hard to believe I am finally here, and still hard to believe this place exists. I spent years gathering information to find it. I poured over obscure texts, comparing maps, drawings, and descriptions. At times I doubted, but the search has been the only thing that has kept me going since my life ended... That is not a story for today, however. That is a story of pain, sorrow, and darkness. Today is a day of fulfillment.
I found the small cove I expected on the east coast of this island. It has been referenced as the Still Waters, but perhaps a better translation would be Waters of Peace. The water is crystal clear, and gently laps against the shore. The air is crisp and clean, I can almost taste a sweetness to it.
To the north, lush meadows stretch for miles. To the south lies a large mountain range. But westward is the object of my search. In my research, I came across several accounts of a special place, and while all accounts described a different location, I believe them to be one and the same. For some it was a place of healing. For others, a convergence of energies providing revitalization. And for others still, it was simply a place where everything seemed right. I believe this to be a special place, where one can find answers.
And so I set off westward, slowly climbing. The grass underfoot appeared untouched, and sprung readily back into place. Looking behind, I could not locate my own tracks, and some have said I could track a snake across a stone quarry. But that is a fitting description for this island... untouched.
By noon, I crested a rise and saw it for the first time. The Garden. Hidden in a natural bowl in the land, the ground fell away gently from where I stood. Flowering bushes lay to either side of a path, with blossoming trees watching over the smaller bushes. The path led toward the center of the Garden, where a ring of trees stretched toward each other to create a dome of leaves. Everything was as I pictured it, yet endlessly more serene and beautiful. And in that ring of trees, I knew I would find the Stone.
As I sit here and look down on the Garden, I begin to think about the journey I took to get here. Thoughts of despair begin to creep into my mind... I'm alone in this world, and will be forever...
I wasn't expecting to have these thoughts here... but then I realize I am only on the edge of understanding, the edge of paradise. I need to kneel at the Stone to find answers. I clear my mind for what I expect is to come.
I... I don't know what to think. I never expected this. I went to the Stone, where I found a book. It was not supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be unspoiled. I lost the peace in my mind, heart, and soul, and knew I would be unable to find the answers I needed at that time. So I have returned to my vantage point to study this book.
It is made of old parchment, and bound with rough, hand-made string. Many of the words are faded, and hard to make out, but it appears to be a journal, similar to what I am writing. Could this be the story of someone who came here before me? There is only one way to find out. I begin reading:
I found the small cove I expected on the east coast of this island. It has been referenced as the Still Waters, but perhaps a better translation would be Waters of Peace. The water is crystal clear, and gently laps against the shore. The air is crisp and clean, I can almost taste a sweetness to it.
To the north, lush meadows stretch for miles. To the south lies a large mountain range. But westward is the object of my search. In my research, I came across several accounts of a special place, and while all accounts described a different location, I believe them to be one and the same. For some it was a place of healing. For others, a convergence of energies providing revitalization. And for others still, it was simply a place where everything seemed right. I believe this to be a special place, where one can find answers.
And so I set off westward, slowly climbing. The grass underfoot appeared untouched, and sprung readily back into place. Looking behind, I could not locate my own tracks, and some have said I could track a snake across a stone quarry. But that is a fitting description for this island... untouched.
By noon, I crested a rise and saw it for the first time. The Garden. Hidden in a natural bowl in the land, the ground fell away gently from where I stood. Flowering bushes lay to either side of a path, with blossoming trees watching over the smaller bushes. The path led toward the center of the Garden, where a ring of trees stretched toward each other to create a dome of leaves. Everything was as I pictured it, yet endlessly more serene and beautiful. And in that ring of trees, I knew I would find the Stone.
As I sit here and look down on the Garden, I begin to think about the journey I took to get here. Thoughts of despair begin to creep into my mind... I'm alone in this world, and will be forever...
I wasn't expecting to have these thoughts here... but then I realize I am only on the edge of understanding, the edge of paradise. I need to kneel at the Stone to find answers. I clear my mind for what I expect is to come.
I... I don't know what to think. I never expected this. I went to the Stone, where I found a book. It was not supposed to be this way. It was supposed to be unspoiled. I lost the peace in my mind, heart, and soul, and knew I would be unable to find the answers I needed at that time. So I have returned to my vantage point to study this book.
It is made of old parchment, and bound with rough, hand-made string. Many of the words are faded, and hard to make out, but it appears to be a journal, similar to what I am writing. Could this be the story of someone who came here before me? There is only one way to find out. I begin reading:
I woke up on a beach this morning, the cool ocean waves lapping over my feet, the fresh air tussling my hair, and the already warm morning sun beating down on my body.
I lay for a time, trying to remember last night...
Trying to remember yesterday..
Trying to remember...
I can't... I can't remember how I got here, nor who I am. I am writing this, hoping to stir some hidden memory, hoping to find myself. The anxiety of an unknown past grips my heart, and the fear of an uncertain future clouds my mind.
But I digress, I must hold to the task at hand. I have to survive. I have to find out who I am. I have to find my way home...
... home
The sun is nearing the horizon now, over half the day gone since I tried to put things down on paper, tried to stir some memory. It is only now, as the sun sets, that I feel... something...
The glow reminds me of...
...
No matter. I will keep writing until I remember. I don't even know where this book came from. It was near me when I found myself on the beach, with a charcoal pencil. I know what these things are, so obviously not all is lost. Not yet.
I scouted around this morning. The water on the beach drops off sharply about twenty yards out. It starts as crystal clear, but quickly turns to deep blue, and then almost inky black. There is something about that water, something ominous. There are no fish either... I daren't even taste the water.
I felt uneasy and left the beach. There is a lone hill west, with flat grasslands all around. In the distance are craggy mountains, west, north, and south, like a wall. Closing in...
But I hope to find a passing ship for rescue, so I can't stray far from that water... that strange water.
Atop the hill is a stone, almost like an altar, amidst a lone grove of trees. This is where I now sit, watching the setting sun through the swaying branches.
I have no food, and am parched, but feel strangely at peace here. I can almost hear music in the distance, like a slow, serene waltz...
... a handshake... why do I remember a handshake?
I will think of these things no more tonight. I need to rest, to let my mind and body cleanse and heal.
