A dream.

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A child, me really, or rather young man, is seen.  A portrait of a typical boy or young man, is seen, in the opening of the showing.  He seems asleep, but then wakes.  He begins talking, in a friendly if vigorous manner.  He speaks to any and all, even to the inanimate and primal, such as cats and other animals, trees, even the wind.  He speaks with a glad heart, in a kindly manner, and often.  He seems strangely animated, there is something different about him.

As the dream progresses it is easy to see that no matter how decently he presents himself or how soft his words, the people who speak with him are disturbed.  They see something, if it isn't easily known what that is at first, that causes them distress.  As the dream continues it becomes plain to see what their difficulty is.  The view pans out so that the whole of this boy can be seen.  He has a lance through him, clean through from the back center of him on out the front of his stomach area.  It is a ripe wound, bleeding fresh blood from time to time.  Behind him is a ghostly figure of a warrior, who holds the lance.  One who also does not interact with the others at all.  Armed and armored, the ghost warrior merely is there.

In time, one of the braver men seeks audience to ask about the troubles.  He asks if the child is in pain.  The child acknowledges the pain, but dismisses it as a requirement.  The brave man asks if there is something to be done, either to allay the ghast or extricate the child.  No, nothing to be done, it is explained.  And it is not the spirit that is causing the harm, the child chose it.  The ghost, you see, existed first, and alone.  The ghost crafted the child from what he once was, in order to set that part of him free.  But once created, the child realized he could not live without the ghost.  So the child himself took the pike onto himself in order to remain real, at cost to the ghost...  To the ghost, another blow to his humanity, one more damage to the world, one less hope that some aspect of himself could be free.

All is not as it seems, suggested the child... who had become animated and friendly again.  It is not the warrior who cages me, but I him.  I simply would not be without the pain, and attachment.  And so I give my lord his dues by being present to all as he cannot be.  In service, pain.  In life, death.  This is merely who we are.

Yeah, perhaps not so much a dream as some may think.  Perhaps more an understanding.  I know why those in Church, many in civil society, and those at Burning Man... hesitate.  The blood flows to this day and so long as we remain alive.