An exercise in creating spaces

The entrance was an archway of old mud that had turned to stone and old stone that had turned to mud packed tightly together and covered in moss. Where it met the ground it formed columns that dwarfed me, and were was as white as the bones of an old god.
Walking past it shifted the quality of light from balmy afternoon to an almost rainy dusk and the scent of the place seemed to move around to complement it. The smell of wet sand and small soft things.

A shaft of light streaming in from the ceiling lit a solitary spot of mushrooms growing on the floor. They held the light greedily and shared none with the rest of us. They had even stolen colors from the light and wore the greens and browns proudly in the gray glow of the cave.
The few photons that bounced off fell into a nearby trickle of water that carried them deeper and deeper and deeper.
The ceiling was so high the light seemed to be a cosmic giant's toothpick carelessly tossed out his space-car window after a heavy meal. A 2 stroke vertical line dividing the room or a metal pole placed there by an absentminded deity to keep the roof up.

I stood as far away from the light as the space would allow with the trickle beneath me to guide me when my mind gave away.
The light and dark seemed to change places continually and to the observer it looked like they took turns moving from fore to background. The mind is clutching at any structure it can find and distorting it to fit a worldview created by two decades of life.

I stood in that spot for days to see if these things changed when observed continually and by the end of it my senses had adjusted to this world as being infinite. I had forced my brain into compliance with the rules of this place. And now I was a slave to the light and the dark.
The dark seemed only a fuzzy thing clinging to the edges of the light.
The light had won out and seemed almost solid.
I had to see if it was.
I had to hold this light even if it burned through epidermis muscle and nerve.

I approach it like you would approach a helicopter, working against phantom solar winds. Step after step I watched the ground, judging my progress by the color gradient of the stone floor.
I stopped at the border of grey and white. The sweat on the arm I was using to shield my face seemed to emerge and evaporate instantly in my currently exaggerated frame of mind and time.

Time was drippy and liquid like Dali thought it was.

I glanced over my arms at it, and after the initial pain of adjustment I could see that the brilliance was fluid. In this magnified space the light had particles identifiable and alive, flowing through space like insects from another universe.
Reaching out took forever, moments compressed and stretched. Days passed for inches and centimeters. Imagined heat burned real flesh as my mind manifested every fear I had built over the last two days.

Then I touch it.

There’s a flash in my head as the steamy remnant of my being burns in the brilliance and escapes through my pores.