The campus of this school is wide. I have not seen every distant corner as of yet. I have kept to the pine forest and flower gardens where my classes have been housed.
Today, looking for something I can’t quite understand, I took a long walk through plant life I’d never noticed. Fields of nothing but waving stalks of gold. This must be the Agriculture School. There’s an old, beat-up tractor that has seen better days, its green paint chipping away in sections, but it is still functional as it rolls over shoots that bow before it.
I pause on the edge of the hill overlooking this glorious view and inhale the sweet smell of life.
“This is definitely different,” I say.
Standing next to me, Hope sighs. “These school field trips are so informative. I never realized how peaceful a farm could feel. I thought the hustle and bustle of planting and sowing would take all the joy out of the experience.”
Not all of our classmates agree, though.
“I need air conditioning,” Irreverent Student whines, but his complaints fall on deaf ears. Most of us would rather enjoy the peace.
Like a scene from an old movie, my classmates and I walk across the field, not knowing why or where we’re going. We joke about it amongst ourselves, about this rope that seems to be pulling us in the same direction, about this feeling that letting go and moving forward is what we’re supposed to be doing. We joke about the fact that even Irreverent Student has taken a different route but he’s also moving forward in the same direction. He’s stopped complaining, too.
Part of me wants to fight the pull, though. I don’t like not knowing.
“But that’s half the fun,” says a voice from somewhere nearby. It sounds like it’s behind me. I turn to find nothing.
“Let go of your restrictions,” the voice calls. Again, I search around the bales of plowed hay for the voice. It sounds like it’s coming from behind everything and yet still so nearby.
“Where are you?” I ask.
“I am where you least expect but where I have always been.”
On top of a poll just ahead of me, unnoticed because it is so unexpected, a raven calls down to me one last time before falling silent: “There are changes coming. Accept what you have always expected.”
I stand there, mouth agape, wondering what Raven is speaking of. What change have I always expected?
“That is beautiful, Writer, The Raven is a gatekeeper of knowledge, it tells of heightened awareness and undeniable truth,” says Hope, as she approaches me, breaking the forward motion of our group. “He is a protector of truth.”
My classmates have stopped walking and have joined Hope. They try to help me understand and accept Raven’s words of promise and faith, “but I am too set in my ways,” I say.
“There is no such thing,” our teacher calls from the cabin of the ancient tractor. “You, my dear Writer, have never been set in your ways.”
He turns off the engine and steps onto the recently plowed field.
“My dear students, all of you are here today because our lessons have led you here. You are ready for the next step in the evolution we call our spiritual education.”
Something in my chest flip-flops, is it joy or is it fear?
“Fear is just the inability to allow, dear Writer,” he says. “Accept and allow the changes coming your way. Everything will be fine because only what you’ve always wanted will become real.”
He takes another step and is transported to my side. “What you have always wanted will begin to appear, but only if you allow it.”
He becomes the dragonfly again, who flutters over my shoulder and whispers in my ear.
“Accept and allow.”
That’s going to take me a while to accomplish. I have been so comfortable in this state of wanting that the state of accepting feels foreign to me. Wish me well, fellow classmates.
Love and light always,
The Dragonfly’s Student