About three or so years ago, my body was in a somnambulistic ritual following a hemorrhagic stroke, maintaining a close-enough comatose state of near-sleep. Fearing the reaper, a hospital bed became my slumber-filled fort.
Short story long – I was spectrally visited by an Indigenous Man, standing near my bed, motioning to come closer as artificial veins were bound to my skin, slagging medical equipment to my body. As the room became a densely wooded area, the Man went through the invisible forest, urging me to rip the maintaining needles stuck in my body to go with him.
But I was stopped, like a cosmic reset button that pushed me into the fabric of reality. Or something like that.