So, I had this dream last night.  It was a little look into my existence as if it were a walk through a tunnel, always downhill and always curved so I can't see where I'm going or where I've been. The stream of people is steady and each person on the journey is carrying a picture of themselves, the picture captures them at a younger age in what they consider their prime.  Take a walk with me.

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As I walk, I can't help but notice that the people in front of me are giving me a clue into my future, I see how they age and their footsteps begin to slow down, their once snappy cadence seems to have lost its vigor, like a slowly unwinding spring losing its tension.  Strangely though, they always remain ahead of me on the slow trudge downward. Each carries a picture of themselves from a point along the road.  They chatter with excitement as they narrate the little pieces of still-life to anyone willing to listen.  As the scene pours over me, I can't help but notice how time and the journey has painted them nearly unrecognizable from the persons captured in the image.  Gray hair, wrinkles and limps of various kinds serve to disguise them and hide what was.  I can't help but think that those in line are slowly unraveling like a large ball of twine and soon their end will be found.

Occasionally a marcher sits by the wayside staring into the picture of their youth silently longing to have someone stop and share their moment in time.  Those passing dare not make eye contact or slow down fearing that somehow the disease of aging will infect them and rob them of their precious time.  As I walked the road I did something that seemed very wrong, as I passed one of the men seated by the wayside I shared an indiscretion - our eyes met - I winced, the contact was almost painful I trained my gaze back to the floor in front of me, however my moment of weakness allowed the distraught man the launching pad he needed.  He began to sing a song, directly into my ears, and my ears alone, his dirge was slow and precise uttered with a bit of tremolo in his ancient voice:

Brother - take a look, look into my soul.

Tell me what you see, tell me what lies down below.

Is it the man I am or is it the boy I used to be?

Am I strong?

Am I weak?

Will you reach for me and help me find relief?

I'm all alone.

Trapped inside a silent world.

His words seared my conscience like a hot iron on flesh, the haunting melody drove my feet into silence as if they became too heavy to move.  I looked back at the man, his eyes now appeared as windows and as mirrors.  A window deep into the man and a mirror in which I could see my future, the effect of time on a body, his wrinkles and gray hair would soon be my own.  Yet there was also something compelling in his appearance after a moment of searching I discoveed something, it wasn't in how he looked, he almost appeared repulsive, it was in fact that we'd shared a moment of real humanity, our hearts had touched as his song had washed over my hesitant ears.

He beckoned me to come sit with him, moving over to one end of an oak bench that gave the appearance of a butcher's block.  I could do no other, I had to sit down.  I studied his appearance and noticed that we had on the same clothing, his was faded and worn from the journey much more so than mine.  On his chest was a name tag that read: ANCIENT

I stared into Ancient waiting for him to tell me the story captured in the photograph he held, that seemed to be the norm for such an encounter, I'd seen quite a few of them on my journey.  After several hours of silence, I realized that this wasn't an ordinary meeting.  I felt drawn to ask the man some questions, he appeared to be full of wisdom.

Trout:  Tell me sir; where does this road go?

Without hesitation the man answered.

Ancient: This road takes us to death and to eternity. 

Trout:  How far is it?

Ancient:  The same distance for everyone, it goes from start to finish.

Trout: How can that be?  Some leave the tunnel early, others travel far.

Ancient:  Traveling into eternity one never goes "far", one only goes.

Trout: You said the road leads to death.  Why must we go there first, why doesn't this road lead to eternity?

Ancient:  We must first be changed, we cannot go like this.

Trout: Why?

Ancient:  Eternity only allows perfection to roam her hallowed halls.  To live imperfect in eternity's house would be the very definition of Hell. Being exposed for what you are under the white light of forever's scrutiny would burn you, yet eternity would dictate that you must not be consumed.

His word picture was chilling, making me wish I had my coat.  I curled up on the bench for a nap hoping to digest all that had happened and perhaps even forget the future that had been revealed.  I closed my eyes but the sleep I found was uneasy, even tiring in a way.  I woke up to find myself alone on the bench, my slumber was such that I was glad to be awake.  I wondered where Ancient had gone, I looked at the spot on the bench where I'd last seen him.  Instead of finding him, I saw a note.  I wondered briefly whether or not I should read the note or just get up and leave, continuing my journey downward, content in what was left of my ignorance. I knew I could not, I must know what the note said.  I grabbed the note, I had to see what was inside.  

As I read the note each word disappeared as if it had been ingested and consumed, it read:

Brother:

There were two more questions you wanted to ask me, I couldn't wait for you to awaken to give the answers in person, the journey called my name.  I'll finish our conversation here.  You wanted to know why the old are never overtaken on the journey by the young even though the young walk faster.  As a boy I wondered the same thing, as Ancient it seems all too obvious.  Time speeds up for the old, a summer has become like an afternoon, a year has become like a young man's week.  A boy's day spent trapped inside the house on a rainy day seems to play out for eons, for the old man it's but the blink of an eye.  My advice to you is enjoy every raindrop, breathe in and savor each and every moment, this life is far too fleeting and evanescent to rush down the tunnel.

As for your other question, Brother, I've written the answer on the back of this note - the moment you're going to die -  it's yours to see or to ignore, few are offered this knowledge for good reason, it hastens the journey.

Farewell, Brother.  Drink in the journey to its fullest.

As the last word disappeared into my eyes, I was left staring at a blank page.  I was wishing that I'd never made eye contact with Ancient, there was no way I could un-see or un-hear any of the things I'd learned.  They were part of me now.  I couldn't help but hate myself a little bit for what was about to happen, I knew that I could never leave the back of the note unread, I didn't have that kind of power.  Given such a choice I had to look into my future.

I turned over the note and watched the numbers disappear into my soul sealing my fate.  

In one hand was my photo, in the other, Ancient's note, in between them a man facing the present.  Longing for the past, fated to die, I did the only thing I could . . . I stretched out on the bench and wept. 

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I wonder about the signifigance of such things, dreams and daydreams.  I have quite a few interesting dreams, so many that I have a pad and pencil next to the bed where I can write them down before they're forgotten in my morning coffee.  As I reflect on them I notice scraps of conversations I've had with people and images I've seen that have left an impression on me.   Or maybe I'm insane.  Either way I'm fine with it.