At the beginning, before the rituals, before the celebrations, before the visions and the dreams, I was sitting in a room. There was a beautiful young woman with red hair wearing a brown dress, a broach on her shoulder, a mythical creature, designating her as a warrior. I see a woman, the same age as my own daughter, full of wisdom and power and strength and courage. I remember the moment I met her years ago on a sunny afternoon outside on the steps of an old stone meetinghouse. I remember knowing then that she was special.
She stands in front of the room and speaks about her journey, sharing the path in all its glory and victory and beauty. She stands and speaks of the dark night of the soul, about monsters and the “Ecstasy in Shadow”. She speaks about paranoia and doubt and polarity. She speaks about the Tower and the terror and the way her life was changed.
I have come to know this woman, but a little. I am still in amazement of her. She seems to be fearless and without limits. But I know that she is simply one of the bravest souls I have ever encountered. She is brilliant and beautiful and generous of spirit and seems to have no awareness of just how rare she is. She is vulnerable in her courage and her willingness to speak of all that she has faced in order to encourage others and to show me the path that I am about to begin, and to give me a compass for my journey. She is the first to tell me what will be told to me many times in the next few days. All of the work I have done until now was just to prepare me, to bring me to the doorway so that I can begin.
I give thanks for her. I hope when I have passed through to the next doorway that I will prove to be as brave as she.