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Reincarnation Stories
A Fear of Heights

As far back as I can remember, I've always been afraid of heights. I remember visiting a lighthouse on Lake Erie. As I reached the top of the lighthouse, I was attacked with a terrifying sensation of falling to my death.

One day when I was about 12 years old, I had a vivid and frightening dream that haunts me to this day. In the dream, Images of the western plains came to me and I heard little boys laughing and horses nickering. It was dark, but I felt the wind on my face, and I could smell the scent of sweet prairie grass.

Through the cover of darkness, I caught a glimpse of an Indian boy about ten or twelve years old, riding a pony. He had paint on his face and was laughing. I couldn't really see him, but I knew that that was because his soul was mine. And so, I laughed back. I knew we were on a mission, one that was dangerous and against the rules, but I followed because the lure was too exciting.

We rode out across the prairie, with the wind at our heels and bow and arrows at our backs and we were free, young boys on the verge of proving our manhood. I knew he was my brother; I could sense the special bond. Laughing, I encouraged my mount to outpace him, pulling into the lead, as we headed straight toward our objective.

Beneath the full moon, we could see them. Hundreds of buffalo. I could hear the rush, the pounding of hooves drowning out my voice. The exhilaration unbelievable. The dust rose thick as the buffalo drew in around my mount, trapping me within the herd. Looking back, I saw my brother. He shouted at me, waving his arms, an alarmed expression on his face. I watched him fall back until the darkness covered him. But I continued to laugh. How could I not? I was happy and completely free.

It's a funny thing: one moment, hearing the sound of the monstrous rumble of the hooves, and then next, an instant silence as you sail through the air, still happy and free, falling to your death.

Later on in life as an adult, I shared my dream with my brother. I was telling him about the two Indian boys hunting buffalo when he gasped in amazement. He had had the same nightmare, but in his dream, he watched an Indian boy ride over a cliff.

That helped to explain my fear of heights. Other things began to make sense. I was born into a nomadic military family. My brother and I look very similar. If you see his profile, he looks native American. Incidentally, just recently I went through a box of old school pictures and artwork and came across a picture I drew in the third grade. In the picture, there are two Indian boys riding spotted ponies, while shooting arrows at buffalo.

R. Granados

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