August 27, 2022
The trend continues: A guide finds me, I find the one (or ones) they are looking for and then the guide takes them on their way. If it is the job of these guides to lead the souls of the dead onto their destination (wherever that might be), I don’t understand why they can’t find the souls on their own? It may be that they usually can but sometimes they need help because the soul is stuck? It does feel like I enter a different liminal space when I am led to the ‘lost’ souls. This other liminal space is related to the Absolute because depthless black is almost always involved in some way.
Today while I meditated, I found myself standing on the edge of a high cliff overlooking a vast canyonland. The colors of the earth and sky were strange. The earth was sometimes banded with blue and the sky was sometimes banded with earthtones. It was like earth and sky had become mixed together; it was beautiful and also other worldly.
Beside me stood a birdlike figure. He was both man and bird, skin covered in feathers. His wings were ethereal, reaching high above him. His face was more bird than man. It took me a while to understand that this was a shaman. In the ‘real’ world, he may have been wearing an eagle mask and a robe of feathers. In this world, his nature was fused with that of an eagle and his face varied between human and bird. He was merged with his spirit animal, the eagle.
I could see why.
He needed the eagle’s keen eyes to help him find what he was looking for. And I was part of what he needed: As I stood there with him, the eagle turned its huge, lambent eyes to gaze upon me, zeroing in precisely on my heart center where it could see, plain as day, the eye that was opened there. It is the eye of the heart, the eye of the Absolute. This is what this young shaman needed. (I could tell he was young not only because he appeared that way but also by his cocky demeanor; he was confident, self-assured, at ease with everything. I can’t say it was unappealing.
Once the eagle had spotted the eye of my heart, the shaman smiled and turned away to gaze down into the valley. I did the same and soon was transported down there. I was standing in a dry arroyo. There was a body (actually two bodies, I was soon to learn) lying prone in the arroyo. They were covered with dust and sediment and therefore sand-colored.
As I looked upon them, something strange started to happen inside my heart. The eye opened and blackness poured forth like dark water, filling the arroyo and turning the blue sky to night. Now, rather than dry, the arroyo was filled with a raging torrent of water. The person had died in this flood, drowned in the torrent.
I was curious who it was. The image of a young, long-haired boy appeared. Then another: The image of an old man, also with long hair. The boy’s grandfather? The grandfather had died trying to saving the boy and his body was curled protectively over him. They appeared before me, strangely happy at being discovered. I would have expected them to be sad but I think they’d been stuck in limbo for a long time and their grief at dying had long ago disappeared. Now they were just happy to be ‘alive’ and found.
The shaman appeared then at my side and the scene transitioned back to daytime. The arroyo was dry again and the grandfather and his boy were now ‘alive’ beside us. They were overjoyed at meeting the shaman and all three hugged each other. They included me in their gratitude, the shaman especially. (He was actually a bit flirtatious, not that I minded.) In the short time we’d been together, I had grown fond of him as well. There was something fun about his cockiness. I’ve always had a weakness for confident guys; it’s so contagious!
He merged with me as thanks, an intense coming together that left me both touched and breathless. As he was leaving, I told him that I might find him just a little bit attractive. He winked, saying that he might also me just the slightest bit attractive as well.
***
