It's rare enough that I remember my dreams, but I do have at least one that recurs and reliably lodges in my memory. More or less. There's no particular plot, and the setting varies in ways subtle and outright, but the atmosphere and valence persists, like different scenes from the same film. With the innate knowing peculiar to dreams, it is always clear that the place is the same. In waking life most familiar to urban explorers and parkour acrobats, it's the hidden geometry of the mundane world, the places concealed in the corner of your eye or behind forgotten doors.
In the dream, it is called the Labyrinth.
This is the first entry of a photo series titled Entrances to the Labyrinth.