The first thing I realize is that I'm on my hands and knees.

The second thing, that the ground underneath me is cold stone. As I look up, colours dance before my eyes while more and more details make themselves known to me.

I'm in a cave. Stone arches over my head, cold and unyielding, but flecked with small, brilliant jewels that reflect bits of light in every direction. The walls of the cave, despite being a dark gray, are dazzling screens that play a show of flickering rainbows. The dominant colours seem to be orange and yellow, and as I look further, I see why. A small fire is burning in the cave. The sacred fire. Tongues of flame, tipped with red, curl into the air. Closer to the core of the blaze, the colours deepen, passing through pale greens and blues into a heart of violet.

I rise to my feet, my gaze captivated by the breathtaking flames. I look closer, and I think I see shapes moving in the blaze. The eyes of a bear, the feather of an eagle. The colours of a medicine wheel. I get the sense that this softly crackling fire holds many mysteries. However, for me, right now, it is nothing but a landmark.

There -- a breeze touches my arm, and I look to my left. The wall of the cave gives way to a tunnel, dark and foreboding. Light flickers across the gem-encrusted passageway. I shiver. This is the way I need to go.

My head turns back. There is nothing behind me but stone and playing light.

I step forward, and as I pass, the warmth from the fire cradles my skin. I cannot help myself from extending my arm and sweeping my right hand through the flames.

Surprisingly, it is not hot. In fact, I feel nothing at all from the fire. Almost as though it were not there -- except for the sparks of liquid light now rolling in my palm.

I stare, fascinated, at this unexpected token. The sparks jump to my wrist and slide down to my fingers. They are weightless and without sensation. When I move away from the sacred fire, the beads of lights stay with me, playing up and down my hand. I curl my hand and they form a gleaming pool in my palm. The sight gives me a surge of pleasure and I move on with a smile across my features.

The passageway that I enter is not narrow, nor wide, but it curves ever so slightly. The light is fading as I head deeper into the stone tunnel, and my surroundings grow gradually dimmer. The warmth has left me, too. Even the sparks on my hand seem to fade into quiet pinpoints of light. I keep my eyes peeled, scanning the walls. According to my guide, I am supposed to encounter a ledge. And I am not to fear the darkness.

Everything down there is made to heal, not harm or destroy, my guide had said. Do not fear the darkness. It will not hurt you. Her words echo in my mind. I do not feel afraid. In fact, my pulse is thrumming with excitement.

My gaze lands on a shelf in the wall to my right. In the space it creates, darkness thrives, like a living creature. I feel like I could touch the black and feel it as a physical thing. Is this the ledge she meant, I wonder?

Impulsively, I swipe my hand across the shelf, through the blackness, just like I did to the fire. It yields to me, unsubstantial, but when I look, I see that I now have a handful of dark to accompany my sparks of light. The sparks gleam bright as they move through the blackness that I am somehow grasping. It is not cold nor warm.

Now what?

I look around again, and now I see the ledge she meant. It is not so much a ledge as the edge of a cliff. Just past my feet, the floor disappears, and gives way to the impenetrable darkness. There is nothing to see below me, but I get the sense that it goes on for an unfathomable distance -- forever, maybe. A forever of darkness.

I am not scared. As I stare down at nothing, I consider my next move. I could turn around and let gravity carry me backwards. I could jump. Finally, I simply tumble sideways, plunging into an eternity of sightless night.