At the Door

         I thought it was gone, but without warning it came back.  Whenever I saw one of the symbols it reinforced the premonition that something was coming.  What it could be, I can't possibly say.  No really, even if I knew what I was talking about, I seem unable to share this with anyone.  It's like there's some block in my mind that knows this is my own burden to bear.
         I can still remember how relieved I was when it went away the first time.  I thought that I could finally abandon this sense of anxiety and helplessness forever.  I thought that maybe it was something everyone went through and just never talked about.  It took time for me to buy that explanation, but I did.  Life became normal for a time.
         Now I'm right back where I started.  No, I'm worse off now.  Earlier it was just a brief flash of some sort of glyph I'd see on random things.  A bird passing by, or a street sign.  Anything really.  So many sleepless nights I spent trying to find a pattern, any pattern, that could explain how, and more importantly why, I was seeing these things.
         Every time they appear I feel the same old rush.  I suppose the best way I can explain it would be like a hike in the woods, serene with nature, proud of yourself for your endurance, with the warm sun on your back.  Then you hear something odd.  You look down to see a coiled rattlesnake poised six inches from your raised foot.
         A dozen different things happen both instantaneously and over the span of infinite.  The whole world blacks out save for the spotlight on you and the snake.  You can see his eyes focus on your foot.  In his eyes you can almost hear him apologizing for what his nature compels him to do.  You don't hear any sounds so much as feel them as they march to the ever increasing tempo of your pounding heart.
         You feel the puncture of his fangs even before he begins his strike.  The venom hits your blood and begins spreading like bad news, because that's exactly what it is.  The messenger climbs up your leg, past your waist, bringing it's vile parcel with it.  He claws at your heart as he passes just to let you know that he's enjoying this.  When he finally reaches your head, he tells you that everything you ever could have been is gone.
         Then the impossible happens.  The snake slithers away.  In the hour that fills the next thirty seconds, the rest of the world rushes to catch up with you.  The lights turn back on, you hear birds in the distance, and you feel a rush of coolness as the wind hits the beads of sweat that had formed on your skin.  You realize you've been holding your breath this whole time and it's all you can do just to stay standing.
         All of this, between seeing the snake and his flight, was less than fifteen seconds.
         Whenever I see one, it's less time and even more intense.  When I first started seeing them again, I felt afraid.  I thought that all of that trauma and tension would be back and I wouldn't be able to cope with it this time.  As I continued to see them though, this changed.  No longer do I feel anxiety, fear, or tension, when I see them, but rather connectedness, serenity, and wonder.
         That's why I have to do this.  The one I'm looking at now isn't going away and by the setting of the sun I can tell that I've been looking at it for more than an hour. 
         I can sense that it wants to tell me something.  It almost seems like it's asking for my help.  When I focus on it, it feels like all of the sightings I've had thus far were to prepare me for something.  I don't know what's going to happen now, but I do know that if I don't go through this door, I'll regret it for the rest of my life.
         God help me.