The ancient limestone tunnel was dark and dank, yet a fine silver stream of moonlight seemed to illuminate its millions of tiny crevasses at every turn. It seemed impossible that any light could pervade the infinite darkness; its length was short as it guided the man only one step at a time as he traversed the underground terrain. Each movement forward was more felt than seen. The man’s feet acted as his eyes, and his ‘eyes’ told him to trust the uneven ground that seemed to continuously shift beneath him. How long had he been descending for, and how much farther had he to go?

The air grew thin, yet somehow the man felt his breathing become easier. He felt the atmosphere changing, molecules of condensation hanging in the air. The mist began to form miniscule water droplets on the hairs on the back of his arms. As he moved, they trickled upon his skin which drank the water gratefully and greedily. Surely he was almost there now?

Suddenly, the man came to a halt. He stopped so abruptly that he almost fell backwards into the endless night of the tunnel. Immediately in front of him hung the silver moonlight like an expansive veil. It seemed all at once dark yet blinding. Solid yet translucent. He looked upwards to a line that seemed to be in the boundless distance: a horizon of where the veil met perpetual darkness. This was where he would pass through.

He advanced through the silver veil and instantly faltered. The path ahead lit up in the sky above him, but below there was a neverending abyss. If he stepped forward once more, would he tumble to his death? Or perhaps he was already dead? Tentatively he placed one foot in front of the other. The world righted itself so now his feet were upon the illuminated ground…or perhaps they were walking upon the sky?

He journeyed for some time more until the air became dense and full of ash. He noticed small rings of smoke in the distance, forming perfect ‘O’s, as if they were being exhaled by someone smoking a pipe. They became bigger and bigger, until he found himself walking through their centres. They smelt faintly of tobacco and some other burnt leaves he did not recognise. He continued to travel through one O to the next, until he saw a form prowling in the distance. It moved through the far-off, smoking Os, gradually getting closer and closer. The form moved with purpose and certainty, just as the man proceeded cautiously. For a moment, it seemed the form had vanished. The man realised he had been holding his breath, scared of who or what he might meet even though he had come to seek it.

Before the man could inhale, Tiger was upon him. He was thrown to his back as stripes of black, white and orange mauled him with vicious rigour. He could hear the blood rush to his ears uttering, “Trust”, as it surged between his temples. “Surely now I am dead?” he thought as he felt Tiger rip first into his head and then into his chest. He felt his life flowing from him, a silent shadow whispering, “Who is dead, if there is no Self?” And then, everything went dark. Finally, he was no more.

For a moment, he was confused. His body appeared to be covered with freshly ground leaves, flowers and spices. He drifted in and out of a hazy sleep. Each time he awoke, more fragrant foliage appeared to be upon him. Finally, he felt a sense of alertness and turned to see Tiger softly opening its mouth, a shower of flowers spiralling to where his heart had been. The Oversoul moved silkily towards his face and headbutted him gently upon his cheek. It spoke no words, but within the man’s healed heart and mind he sensed it.

“Welcome back.”