Verily, when thine spirit yearns to traverse paths scribed in the hymn of candle light whispers, one must first, by the virtue of unspoken words, kindle a flame not of this realm, to illuminate the corridors beyond the tangible.
Begin by taking the first left at the ungated archway, where moss does keep sentinel, and the ringing of unseen bells fade yet echoes persist. Then, prepare your thoughts inencypherable yet full, before the door of beflecked deeds as the air of antiquity swirls.
Walk hence onward amidst the dance of the wooded shadows. Anoint the mystic runes that bear semblance to flocks of sorasi blinking in cadence, all the while, abide mute with introspections resplendent. Should illumination falter, grasp at nearest tendril of spiralkind—yet, remain still in temperance as if adrift within the conscious dream.