Kermut: The Hillside Guardian
There are guides who come to you in dreams, in cards, or in quiet moments of knowing — and then there are those who arrive like a memory your soul never forgot.
Kermut is one of those for me.
I didn’t meet him through words or even meditation at first — I became him. I saw through his eyes, felt the heaviness under them, stood on the hillside he calls home. From that moment on, I knew: he had been watching me long before I remembered him.
The Vision of the Hillside
It began with a vision of myself as an old man — long gray hair, lined skin, eyes heavy with time and wisdom. I stood on a hillside beneath a wide-open sky, cloaked in flowing gray. There was a stillness, a silence, and a knowing:
This is who I have been before.
That pressure under the eyes — I’ve felt it many times during meditation, and in that moment, I understood: it’s not discomfort. It’s remembrance.
The Ritual & His First Words
During a ritual I now call The Hillside Guardian, I returned to him again — this time at night.
He stood at the mouth of his cave, wearing dark robes, his long silver hair cascading over his shoulders. A brass lantern flickered softly to his side, worn with age, holding a thick, used candle.
When I asked for his guidance, he spoke only a few words — but they anchored deeply into my heart:
“Dear Child, the messages will come. I am with you.”
He told me I must allow my light to shine. That the world is afraid of what’s changing — but my light can help others stay steady and calm. And in that moment, I knew:
Kermut is not only a guide. He is a guardian of my purpose.
The Ruins & the Sky Dance
Another vision took me soaring beside him — flying with joy and lightness. He brought me to a place of ancient ruins, tall marble columns standing in silence among broken stones.
Without words, I knew: This was his home.
It had been invaded. Few survived. And he chose isolation not from fear, but from sacred duty.
I flew again, this time alone — spinning among stars, dissolving into energy, becoming a pink-orange cloud, then a mushroom of light — exploding and reforming instantly.
Kermut watched. Not as a teacher testing me. But as one who knew: She’s remembering who she is.
Final Reflection
Kermut doesn’t speak often. But his presence holds a thousand lifetimes of wisdom. He reminds me that being a sage doesn’t mean being seen — it means being still, being aware, and being ready when the world needs your light.
And he reminds me — gently, constantly — that I am not alone in this work.
You aren’t either.
To meet your own guides, you might begin with stillness. Or a single question. Or by returning to a feeling you’ve carried for lifetimes.
The light will meet you there.