Wiggling my toes into the pure white sand feels unbelievably good. I curl my toes and extend them like a morning stretch. Sand ducks and dives between my toe gaps, scratching on its way past, my eyelids flutter, mouth open in complete surrender to the sensation. I lift my gaze to absorb what my eyes are trying to compute.

Jungle.

Dense jungle.

1000s of species of plants, trees and wildlife sprout in every direction - their appearance to my naked eye looks random, but I sense it’s prehistoric beauty has been carefully choreographed for more than that; optimal living where every organism benefits from one another. The opposite of modern humans who seem to define success by their ability to live independently.

Bulging under the low cloud are 7 domino looking structures, poking abruptly in and out of high tree lines and cloud cover, before extending undisturbed into the blue sky. Each positioned a stones throw from each other, giving the impression they are all related but far enough away to shine their uniquely mezmorizing features.

I swallow, blink twice to remove any doubt, and take my hands out of my pockets. I'm unsure how I appeared here, or what will happen next; which usually fill me with anxiety, but right now, I only steer wholeheartedly at the relatively well opened bush track laying 100metres in front of me. I take a step forward away from the tide line. Then another. Looking back, I notice my footsteps are deep in the sand, and surprisingly, they aren’t washing away when the tide rolls in.

“I don’t want to be followed.” I thought.

Without hesitation, I begin to walk backwards towards the track opening. This way any unexpected guests will think I’ve left, rather than arrived.

Creeping into the track opening, I was greeted by wave after wave of face slapping branches - positioned perfectly at my face level, I’d push through one leafy green section to find a wide palmed leaf face, just waiting to come into clean contact with my cheeks. OUCH!

Up a head, I notice a clearing near the treetops. I up my speed, desperate for open space. As I arrived to the tennis court sized grass patch, Strangely, large balls of screwed up paper, the size of a supermarket trolley, laid wet on the ground. Crator sized holes lay as a dent from its slam. With a close inspection, a thick layer of goo coated its surfaces. Strange.

Tucked under a frame of interwoven grape vines I spot a rickety looking door handle. Ignoring the balls of paper, I run over, brush away the leaves, green mould and ant colonies to reveal a wooden door with a faint engraving that read;

God of Intrepid Thought

“What on earth is this?” I mumble to myself. Here in lies a simultaneous conversation between my gut and my mind, guess which is which.

1. Do I push this door open and confront whatever fate awaits me, which may result in my death, or maybe something good. The risk is 50/50, if you don’t risk it; you’ll never get the biscuit.

Or

2. Do I walk back through the clearing, past the large gooey balls, past the face slapping leaves and back into my footsteps on the beach where I can sunbath under the warm sun. This is the safe option I think this is best.

I went with my gut. With two hands, I turn the plate sized door knob clockwise. The door pops, leaving a cloud of dust and bugs dancing around my head. My hearts pounding, adrenaline leaks rapidly into my bloodstream causing my breath to shorten. I feel alive. With each subtle push, the door creaks louder and louder; until its hinges engage, where it smoothly opens to 45 degrees.

With a loud controlled exhale, I fix my eyes on the infinite flight of steep stairs. “Uggghhh, stairs! And lots of the fuckers!” I thought to myself.

Limestone stairs so rough in its earth tones. It’s lip thick and round, pinched at both ends with a finger width trench where the water drains. Frongs of fossilised twigs scatter the face of each step like a museum display, leaving you to ponder its beauty and incomprehensible age. The stairs spoke to me, as if i was speaking directly to the person who laid them, not with words, rather there heart, I could feel their passion, their drive to persue perfection, not for the eye but for their boundless curiosity, forever quenched with every step on these stairs.

The Combination of momentum and pure aesthetic joy removes any physical strain of walking up stairs, in fact its strangely a pleasure to walk up. with each step, my mind ponders with intention, like riding the back of a philosophers train of thought.

“1001, 1002, 1003”

A glowing light grows closer and closer as I near the top of this tunnel of stairs. I up my pace, tongue hanging out of my mouth, furiously excited. The walls of the tunnel are littered with painted finger marks and engravings of baby elephants, I can barley make out over the abundance of vines and cobwebs. With a gentle step, I lunge off the last step onto a barrier-less platform.

“Wow.”

My mind couldn’t believe my eyes. An infinite sea of rich green treetops rolling over hills flood the horizon. My eyes bypass my mind and head straight for my soul, words cannot describe, only pure feeling can.

The platform is the size of a boxing ring. Nothing decorates the platform, for which I don’t blame the designer, the view speaks for itself.

“UGHH!”

I jumped off my feet and land on my bum in shock.

In the corner of the platform, a man in a large throne sat looking over the view. I sat silent. They could clearly hear my presence. The man sat completely still. The sound of silence and faint honks and squeaks of large treetop birds filled the gaps.

I stood up. in awe of his all encompassing quiet presence.

I Tip toed towards the mysterious man in the corner. Wind blew his luscious black short hair upwards. He wore nothing but what appeared to be an Aztec looking poncho. It was so calming. I felt my anxiety quickly flip into peace. each step was a step closer into this man’s ora. I felt like I’d known this man for years, on a level words cannot sustain. My instincts kicked in, thought ceased. I reached my hand to touch the throne and peer overtop to inspect him.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Only inches away, he grasps my hand without movement of any other part of his body. I freeze in shock.

“Bonjour, you’ve finally arrived.” The man spoke with with a soft French accent.

His grip is soft against my skin, hands with fingers that seem to be used for only mindful use.

“Who… who… who are you?” I stutter.

“I am Dorian. God of Intrepid Thought. The mind of this island. And gatekeeper to the sacred Elephant, Nelly.” He said.

“But what the f**k am i doing here? Why am I meeting you?” I replied.

“You’re on a journey. This island is the canvas of your mind. These 7 towering temples each with unique messages, are the coloured brushes you shall use to paint your life’s purpose and defeat your greatest demons.” He murmured.

Hahahaha I curled over and laughed.

“That’s the most bizarre thing I've ever heard!”

"Come", The French man said in an expressionless but mysterious tone, allow me to show you my temples true beauties.

With a staunched chest and a fluid prowl from his throne, he stomped hard against a loose concrete panel.

I paused.

Widened my stance, and anticipated some sort of sorcerer magic to force my mouth open and remove my soul.

Instead, with an awkward delay, the panel popped open and released a high pitched squeak sound, like one of those farts you accidentally let slip whilst shifting to a more comfortable posture on a public bus.

This would have also been more impressive if with the wobbling of his zebra slippers tail wasn’t so prolonged from the impact.

How did I not notice these before!?

To top it off, his long draping silk robe tucked and snuggled behind the large ears of the zebra, making its half moon smile just that bit more adorable.

Like the panel was a loose acorn, he flicked it away using the zebras ear in a swift effortless motion. The panel flipped twice, spun once, and landed on its side exactly an inch from what seemed like a dark cavernous oven sized hole of emptiness.

My jaw was on the floor in astonishment. Never mind my shallow presumptions of this guys fluffy zebra slippers. This cute Frenchman was the real deal.

“Grab my hand.”

“I now will show you the greatest arts that ever lived.”

Without hesitation, I firmly placed my hand inside his, interlocking fingers like a school girl crossing the road. I squeezed with enough pressure that I could feel his hearts pulse against mine, our beats were matched, I blushed. The flow of his presence was strangely intoxicating.

He remained with a staunched chest and fixed eyes on his mission.

The Frenchman took a deep nasal breath in, looked to the horizon line like he was performing his daily ritual, bent from the hips and screamed into the hole.

“Feliciaaaaaaaaa!

DAMIENNNNNN!”

In compete disarray, I gazed on as a beautiful man and women floated Angelically up and out of the hole. They hoovered for a moment, glowing and twirling their astounding clothes. I’d never seen such natural attraction. Their eyes a vibrant and rich green, piercing into mine like a fine tipped arrow dipped in a potion of compete infatuation.

The Frenchman turned to the couple. Bowed in respect, turned to me with a subtle smirk and squint of the eyes and clapped his hands like he was summoning a maid.

The peer interlocked and crossed forearms before weaving, diving, sliding, catching, caressing around each other in a what looked like two peacocks courting for the first time, showing their proudest colours and traits. The whole time, they never stopped looking at each other. Almost as if their identity merged into a single organism of divineness. Tears streamed down each of my cheeks.

Is this your favourite art form?” I ask in a soft tone.

He shrugs without eye contact.

“I don’t know.” He replies.

The Frenchman, Obviously content with my reaction, smirks harder and claps his hands again, but above his head this time.

“Oh god what next!” I shout, as if I couldn’t handle this much dopamine circulating my brains blood stream.

Out floats a tuxedo’d bald man, strapped with a handcrafted classical guitar and a large red rose in his jacket pocket. He was clean cut and smelling very fragrant, an upper class, endearing smell that wafted and kissed my forehead as it followed his trail. His smooth jaw line and precision cut face was pleasing to the eye, but not quite has pleasing as his overwhelmingly shiny scalp, which stood out more than his fresh leather shoes!

The Frenchman bowed at the man and winked a wink of “go on, do your thing” to the bald man.

The bald man, licked his thumb, gently slicked his eyebrows back, and began his lifelong commitment.

He plucked every string like it was a new born child’s first day on planet earth. The notes blended a melody so fast and advanced that even the deepest bush pigs and squirrels hung out the woods to listen. All present ears and brains, regardless of their specie, watched mesmerized of this man’s 10 fingers.

Tears continued to run down my checks, sliding deeper into deep running tear tracks, as if they were cars flowing seamlessly down a motorway. This time they dripped steadily off my chin, and pooled in a small crevice off my collar.

“This has got to be your favourite art form!?” I asked in an assertive tone.

He paused.

And again, he shrugs without eye contact.

“I don’t know.” He sighs.

He continued to clap.

I continued to cry. Incomprehensibly.

The share talent and craftsmanship of art forms blossomed in culture, snapshots of beautiful past times merged with a modern mind.

Simply breathtaking.

artwork, pottery, singing, quilting, sporting, martial arts, you name it.

Each time his smirk grew thicker and closer towards his ear lobes.

Enjoying myself beyond belief, I couldn’t help but think he’s missing a crucial art form.

“Hey wait, I have the greatest most convenient art form of all time in my back pocket!”

I rummaged around in my back pockets. Dodging the lipstick, squishing the chewing gum wrapper, “eww yuck.”

until I finally found it.

“The internet,”

“You forgot the art form of communicating online and social media, it’s everything you have in one!”

The Frenchman’s smile dropped like a dehydrated sunflower.

“Here you can have this!” I said to him as I hand him my phone.

“I’m afraid I will decline your gift.” He softly replied.

“What!? Why!? Are you crazy this has the ultimate power to succeed!” I yelled now, slightly offended.

He stood still, grabbed the gift and placed the phone back into my hands before folding my fingers overtop and clasping my hands with his.

“You could teach these people to write down all the knowledge they know about their skills so they can teach the world and be famous forever!” I said wide eyed in a final plea.

He proceeded to speak. Rolling his tongue over each word like they were nails into wood.

“My dear, If these people were to write down everything they know online, they will forget who they are and everything they know.”

“But, but, but, hang on let me just show you what I mean. Trust me let me just… hold on.” I open my phone Lock Screen but the suns brightness from this angle is to much.

“One moment please.” I gesture politely with an awkward giggle.

I hunch over and turn around to cast a shadow over my screen.

“Come on come on, Uh huh! Wait till you see what I have can do on… Tik..Tok…”

I turned around.

He and is dearest art forms, we’re gone.

“No, no, no, come back! Please! I hate the internet! I take back what I said!”

Huffing and puffing, I dropped to my hands and knees, slouch my head in disappointment, and begin to sob, running tears down those well established tear tracks and refilling that collar pool.

The concrete panel was back to its original position.

A strange breeze picked up and brushed my hair across my face. Out the corner of my eye, a piece of paper gently swayed in the breeze, before landing so sweetly in the middle of the concrete panel.

Bonjour Shannon,

Remember.

To connect we must disconnect. Go well on your next journey. I’m sure it’ll be delicious.

Yours truly.

Dorian.

POOF!

Before my next words could leave my lips, I suddenly returned to the bottom of the stairs, with my left leg half raised ready to step.

“What on earth is going on!?” I yelled out loud.

So many questions and feelings, deep in nature, swirl through my head.

-What is my purpose in life?

- What sort of impression do I want to make on the world?

- What’s wrong with talking?

I don’t know where these thoughts stemmed from, but my heart tickled at each of them. This French sounding, handsome god of intrepid thought was planting a seed of reflection in me.

I return back to the field of large slobbery paper balls.

BANG!

I reluctantly flinch as I stroll, another giant stemming screwed up ball lands beside me. I begin to desensitize to my surrounding bizarreness. Dorian must be pondering again.