Whether I close my eyes in meditation or in dreams, he is there. The watcher.
Except…he’s not watching me.
He’s in almost every dream now. Sometimes indoors, sometimes outside. Always on the outskirts of my dreams. Unobtrusive. Occasionally but seldom participating. But present.
In this last dream before morning, I understand. Finally. I know why he’s here.
I am walking outside, on a hill, and there he is. Again. In his usual posture.
Sitting in the grass. His long legs stretched out in front of him. Legs crossed at the ankles. Barefoot but capable of doing harm if defense is required. Propping himself upright on straight, bare arms beneath short sleeves that belie the seriousness of his function.
He squints out at the expanse before him, scanning the hillside, the valley below, the distant clouds. Watching.
I stand behind him, watching the watcher. He does not look up at me. He does not acknowledge me or laugh or smile or speak. He simply watches.
He is many things, but here in the terrain between the worlds, he is a watcher and protector. He doesn’t watch me, or hinder me, or change my wanderings in any way. He simply watches. Watches those things beyond us. The things I cannot see.
He does not stand in full armor or with blade in hand, though I’m sure he has blades at the ready if needed. He has the coolness of a warrior who knows he will be quick enough with any weapon as long as his eyes are keen.
And so he watches.
My sentry.
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