A Dreamer’s first ascent into the Spirit World on the wings of a Spirit Helper is like a return to the womb, to a safe place filled with an awareness of the beginnings of who we are. It is a miracle of silence and beauty. A miracle that is swiftly gobbled up when we plant our feet on dirt again.
That is the heart of the Dreamer’s struggle—not learning to soar, but learning to walk after you’ve soared.
Walking on solid ground, as though you’ve never sailed through blinding sunlight, is the most difficult thing any Dreamer ever does.
It is the fork in the trail.
The decision.
It may be the instant of rebirth, the moment when a man or woman is born into the Spirit World and sprouts his own glistening wings.
Or it may be the instant of accepting less, and the beginning of lifelong regret. Dreamers call this the “little death.”
I cannot hope to convey to you how terrible it is. The “little death” is like a serpent forever coiling and uncoiling inside you, forever striking, biting, and filling you with poison.
I had heard of the “little death.” Somewhere along the way, every Dreamer does, but no one told me that it was everlasting. Perhaps they didn’t have the courage.
I’m not sure I do either.
How can I tell this haunted boy that from the moment I decided my earthly duties to the People were more important than wings, I’ve never stopped dying?
Should I tell him? Would he even listen?
I wouldn’t have. The People were everything to me.
But he is stronger than I was.
He sees more clearly.
I pray with all my soul that he is brave enough to “abandon” his duties and fly away … .