Coastal Exiles

This was a strange, philosophical dream with hints of horror, intrigue, and erotica. I was on an undisclosed, rocky beach which had a network of tunnels chiselled into the cliff face. These tunnels were visited by people eager to uncover mysteries. It involved traversing a dank, claustrophic series of undergound hallways resembling sewage maintenance, searching for clues until a locked wooden door could be opened. On the other side, something profound or distrubing would present itself to the seeker, usually prompting them to live a life of exile on the shore, pondering a specific question for the rest of their lives. But I jump ahead.

I underwent the trials earlier in the dream, but the memory of what awaited me behind the door has now unfortunately fled. This was because I had a busy shift at work today and was unable to write it down whilst fresh in my memory. All I recall is there being lots of dripping moisture, a soggy book, and something to do with fingers. The next person attempting to undergo the trials was a woman I know from real life, called Tamsin. She was excited about the prospect of uncovering the mystery, and was vlogging the experience to boost her social media following. We had some fleeting chats before she entered the tunnels.

After my trial, I was wandering somewhat aimlessly on the beach, which was cold and dismal. A parked double decker bus offered some warmth, hosting pockets of teenage schoolgirls who sat gossiping and eating smelly crisps. I attempted to find a spot on the bus, on both the lower and upper deck, but I felt self-conscious around the teenagers, and was worried I might be mistaken for a sexual predator. I returned to the sea, where I noticed a scattering of people all sitting around on large rocks and jutting boulders, gazing out to sea in the manner of Auguste Rodin's The Thinker.

Tamsin returned from the tunnels, although I wasn't sure if she had completed her challenge. She told me that these people had all opened the door, and were now isolated from society. They had given themselves over to thinking about nothing but one specific question, channelling all their mental energy into it day after day until they died. Towards the end of their lives, they may not have reached enlightenment, but they would be closer to the truth than anyone else in the history of the world, so close they could almost reach out and touch it as a physical object. Then they would depart from the world. I decided to join them in their exile, but what my question would be, I did not know.