(I found nothing)
I am in a church, or perhaps I am just being shown one. It is beautiful and ornate, and yet still simple enough to be considered respectful in all circles.
A Spanish woman rises from her seat and moves toward the front. What strikes me about her first is her hair. It is has a very light hue and seems somehow mussed. I cannot decide whether this speaks of something civil yet unsettled, or something raw and uncontrolled. Her face is very sad, and her eye makeup is smeared. Has she been crying?
She stops behind a table at the front of the church. Kneeling, she leans on it heavily with both hands. Her head hangs low, and her concentration is great. An air of something powerful surrounds her.
Suddenly, I am being pulled from my bed. I can feel my consciousness peel away and rise up from my body. It feels wonderful, as it always does. I can see a light, but it is not a bright one. It is very very dull and mostly spherical, and has a deep blue appearance. Unsure of what it is, I focus on it. I wonder if it is spiritual or imaginary... natural or mechanical... I am unsure of its meaning, as always.
I feel now that I have a purpose. Something is pushing me in the direction I am meant to go. Letting go of myself completely, I allow that force to guide my movement. The feeling of movement is glorious, but I come to a halt near the wall by the bed. My mind's eye is guided to face the door to the next room, and then I am allowed to settle on the floor. I find it difficult to move of my own free will. I feel the solidness of the table next to me as I pass closely by it, and I can tell that I am moving slowly.
Terror comes over me now, though the state of fear is self-induced. I want it. The fear is the only way I know to reclaim my physical self. It motivates me, and forces my struggle to return. Once I arrive, the struggle does not end. There is still much road to travel between my arrival and being awake again. I fight it more, telling myself how terrified I must be of what I've just been through, yet knowing well how liberating, rare, and unique a feeling it is to be truly outside myself.
Soon I am awake, left wondering about what I've seen. How much of this is real? How much of this is invented in my mind from the pre-planted seeds of its possibility? Why was I so ambiguous toward the light, yet so awe-struck by the old Spanish woman? Why do I always make an effort to be afraid, but always wish that I hadn't once I'm awake?
I found nothing of interest in the next room.