The horizon stretches beyond all known demarcations, unanchored by maps, defying vectors and ink stains.
Consider the path where the left turns into the right, yet maintains a steady course toward the unspoken.
Take the third right after the second dream, when one has yet to awaken from the first fog. The compass, despite its intent, shall not guide you, for it turns always toward the illusion of north.
Questions and answers dissolve in the dew of early twilight, where the past is but a reflection of shadows knowing their own doubts.
Travel north until the sun sets twice in a single dawn, then south until you hear the whisper of the forgotten. The east will greet you with silence, while the west offers echoes of your own footsteps.
Unseen vistas lie before those who choose not to see, waiting in the interstices of conscious and unconscious existence, untroubled by the observer.