A figure stands, actually blocking my way. Dressed, head to toe, in a red hooded robe, even the face was hidden. In fact, there was a surreal sense that there was no face. Yet I knew this visage was looking at me. Eyes without a face? The drape of the robed arm was a cascade of flowing blood-red material. It? He? She? whatever, was pointing the way toward the left fork. I look at my surroundings. I am in a Birch forest, and the scent was earthy, but new. I can hear the sounds of a forest, all twitters, and buzzes, and ribbits and even the gurgling of a brook somewhere.
Though I could not see a hand, the other robed limb grasped what I think might be a staff, until I see it rising above this being's left shoulder; a metalic and deep-gray cloak marriage of pole and material. It is, in fact an immense flag, upon which rests a white rose, in full bloom, with green leaves peeking out from beneath the petals at odd angles.
A fluttering out of the corner of my eye catches my attention. A happily flitting butterfly dances just below the sleeve, heading in the same direction this 'Red Robin Hood' was recommending.
Song for Death: Don't Fear The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
From the first steps of the journey, the transformation begins. Each teacher brings me to a reflection, not so much of new information, but new perspectives on the knowledge kicking around inside my brain; different ways of viewing the world, myself, and ways in which I can manifest, to a greater degree, the essential me.
Death is transformation, to the point where old layers begin to fall away, and a shining new outer being evolves from the ashes of the old, because the inner self is being nourished, attended and resides in the driver's seat of the vehicle.
My Earth Walk has become an intensive inner study, in ways I could never have imagined, though may possibly have glimpsed in those brief moments of ecstacy, in the give-away that the Sacred Dance of Life requires.
And there is no turning back.