It is the spring of 2024. I undergo an active imagination session.
“I'm afraid”
[8]: “Afraid of what?” Her eyes said she knew already. Filled with subdued hunger as though resisting a powerful urge.
“I'm not sure. I can't articulate it.”
Her eyes glowed like cold embers that seemed to signal me to follow her deeper into the woods to a secret vault that bore the pattern and ornamentation of things familiar yet beyond my experience. It was foggy, crickets chirped, frogs croaked, neither day nor night but seemingly both at once. The symphony of my land. I recognized the plants, what their purposes were, the various species of tree, what was good to eat and what was not. The fresh scent of morning dew. We were in the mountains of the valley of the sick, known as the Willamate Valley.
She pressed her hand on this strange concrete chamber door and said “When I open this door, you will understand fear. It's consequences, and it's purpose.” She then instructed me to orally state that I wished for this door to be opened, but when I did, it didn't budge. “You have to mean it.” I was suddenly filled with emotions of exactly what it meant. I tried again, and the door began to open on it's own.
“The sword can be a key as well as a guardian.”
The vision ended with me staring down a dark stairwell.