When I meditate, I'm always at the same location. Sometimes when I dream it is there too.

It is a shore with pebbles and darkened sand, with cliffs to the left and right. A steady rain, thunder. The waves are rough and almost as exciting as the storm itself. The rain stings with every powerful gust. It's warm yet the water is chill. It is night, and only the faint glow of one of the moons is visible.

In the distance, to my left along the shore and up a cliff is a ruin of some kind. Old, mostly overtaken by moss and roots, with the land beneath slowly returning, bit by crumbling bit, to the ocean beneath.

It is the place I always end up. Where my guides take me. Sometimes others, occasionally faces I remember from before are in the distance, diving down from that cliff perch into the water, thrilled with the energy of the storm.

I do not recognize it from my memories last life but it is familiar. And that familiarity feels old, almost sad in a way. But all of my memories feel old, very old and long ago.

I figured that was interesting enough to share.