The Native American spirit sat alone by a towering tree waiting for his lover. He didn't know how long he had been there, and she wasn't even sure if he knew he'd passed away a long, long time ago.
She had been on a nature walk in the warm spring breeze, and she had her magical staff with her. She was out to greet and giggle with the hidden folk, and make offerings to the elements.
Since she knew how to help spirits cross over, she asked him if he would like some help. Since this was a stubborn spirit, he said no.
"You can't help everyone," she said "you have to respect their free will." So she let him be, and went on her way.
I met her in the fall, when my grandpa had come to the end of his life. The song, "Don't Fear the Reaper," by Blue Oyster Cult ran through my mind over and over. The ding of the cowbell was like the tick, tick, tick of the clock.
She taught me that when we die, we have a choice of where to go. Sometimes, we choose to stick around a little longer.
We were all sitting in a circle, and there was a group consensus to attempt to guide that Native American spirit again. Maybe he'll change his mind.
The woman who enters non-ordinary reality through the eyes of Jesus said, "I don't think she's around anymore..." meaning his lover who he waited for. She came around to say she's sorry, she's moved on. She didn't know he'd been waiting for her all this time.
His two brothers from his tribe came to help. They were warriors, they came back for him and they showed him where he could go.
We put him in a canoe and sailed him off down the river toward the nature realms.
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