Stories Told Through Symbols 🌿

I’m holding a glowing orb in my hand.

I don’t even have time to wonder what it’s meant to represent before it rises and flies ahead of me. As if it’s certain I’ll follow. It leads me all the way to a dark cave. It hovers patiently at the entrance, as if saying: Come on, we have to go inside now.
I don’t feel like it, but what can you do. If I refused, the meditation would probably end right here. So I enter. The orb lights my way, its glow flickering across the stone walls.
But the deeper I go, the dimmer it becomes—until it goes out completely. Perfect timing.

In the half-light ahead, I see a large wooden portal and a guardian who simply nods and lets me pass.
A room filled with light opens before me. A queen steps toward me—radiant, steady, and dignifiedly majestic. 

In the center stands a long table set for seven people. 

Everything ready, though none of the guests have arrived yet. I almost expect the queen to offer me a welcome drink, but instead she smiles kindly: I’m the first.

I walk to the window to take a breath—and realize I almost forgot to breathe during the meditation. That happens to me often. But then I’m already looking out into a garden in full bloom, the fountain sparkling… even though we’re deep underground. That’s what fairy tales, meditations, and sci-fi have in common—physics runs on idle here.

A dove sits on the windowsill. Tame, as if waiting for me to stroke it.

I want to wait for the other guests, but the queen warns me that the dove must go to the light immediately or it won’t survive. Yet before I can sort my thoughts, the bird takes off and circles the room. I try to catch it in my hands. I’m tired, it’s tired. In the end, we both give up at exactly the same moment. I sit at the table and ask for something to eat and drink. Another warning from the queen—if I hesitate, the dove will die.

I look at the poor bird. The dove no longer flies. It sits before me, quiet and slumped, as if its last bit of energy has drained away. I carefully gather it into my hands and decide I’ll eat only once we’re above ground, in the light.
The orb is gone, yet the path out still glows. I don’t understand it, but I don’t protest.

When I leave the cave, I spot a castle in the distance.
Well, look at that — it is a fairy tale after all.

At the door, a guard again. A familiar face. He lets me inside. I’m expected.
Déjà vu—I’ve been here before. The queen sits at a long table. Set for seven, six seats taken. They’d been waiting only for me.

The dove settles on the windowsill. The garden in bloom, the fountain murmuring. Yes—it’s the same room. Just on the surface now.
The queen rings a bell. The dove startles and flies out the window, and just then the servants enter with silver platters. When I look closer, I see the main course: stuffed squab. The symbolism gives me a gentle but unmistakable slap.

My platter is empty.

The queen looks at me the way you look at someone you want to understand, yet still need to tell: Well, you’ve made this a bit complicated again…
She’s sorry I was delayed. A new squab must be caught, she says, and asks me to wait in my chambers.

In the corridor, my dove is waiting. I watch as it turns into a sphere of light and silently guides me out of the castle. I follow, knowing I will never return.

Outside, it’s dark, but this time I’m not afraid.

Somewhere deep inside, I feel that the glowing orb knows exactly where we are going.
Even if I don’t.

And maybe that’s okay.