The Ferry Woman appeared vividly–a young, light-haired woman who looked vaguely familiar. She was calm, with no expression, and did not look at me.
In the great hall, at the hearth, sat a figure with an ancient face–bulging eyes, long crooked nose–a man, I think. I asked what path I should be following. This ancestor produced a large red heart–the actual organ–held it up, and then began gnawing on it. Though I was shocked, I understood this was a symbolic art that I needed to meditate on to understand fully. It means something about giving up myself, giving up my heart. He gave the heart to me. Then he asked me, “What are you doing for the Earth?” “I try to honor the Earth,” I replied. “I give thanks every day.” In return I give this ancestor a necklace of purple, blue, and yellow beads that I made several years ago. I thank him and depart.
