SILENCE—but a silence fuller and more fulfilling than any on earth—fell between us as I considered what my Teacher had said. The stillness itself breathed of joy and reverberated with glory and anticipation. I knew now what people on earth refer to vaguely as the “presence of God.” But here, without the fen-clouds of sin and mortality, the Presence shot through the bright air with transparent fullness. Suddenly my reverie was interrupted by another ghost who walked toward us, out from silvery shadows under a grove of trees. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his dingy coat, and he walked as doggedly as possible over the sharp hardness of the grass. Next to him a shining Spirit strode effortlessly, but the Ghost looked only straight ahead—toward the far-off mountains.
“Will you not take my arm?” asked the Solid One, and his voice was at once both a symphony of riotous melody and full of liquid stillness. The Ghost appeared not to hear, and the Spirit repeated his question. “Friend, will you not take my arm?”
“I heard you the first time,” the Ghost said shortly, slowing his pace slightly. “Thank you, sir, but I shan’t be needing your assistance.”
“But you do even now,” said the Spirit with a laugh. “Why, look at your grimacing because of your poor hurting feet. You needn’t toil so painfully on the grass or walk in constant fear of a bit of dew or the threat of morning. Come, take my hand; walk with me.”
“I’m afraid I did not make myself quite clear before,” said the Ghost. “But I do not want your help.”
“The grass will never give under the feet of self-sufficiency. Grace alone solidifies the ghostly. Don’t you realize you cannot reach the mountains on your own?”
Here the Ghost finally stopped and, for the first time, looked at the Spirit. But soon he dropped his eyes, smote as they were by the wonder and brightness of the other’s redeemed body. “Can’t?” he asked, as if taken aback. Then, regaining himself, he said, “Oh, yes, no doubt many have failed—the poor, sniveling, cowardly ones. We had many of them on earth and many in the Grey Town. Or the indecisive ones. Lack of determination—no drive, no self-motivation, that’s their problem. But, if I may say so, I—”
“You are mistaken. No strength of will or body will ever get you even to the foothills. Reality wearies the stubbornness of autonomy. Lay down your burden—your self-focus, independence, self-trust… You are heavy-laden with self. Come, lean on me, and once baptized in the cold mountain streams and strengthened in surrender, you will find rest—rest from your self-imposed load.”
“Reject independence?” said the Ghost incredulously. “What!? Independence makes the man—if one can’t trust himself, who can he trust? No, the victor is the one who conquers against all odds, the one who braves the strife and to himself alone is true.”
“No, rather, true power—His power—is made perfect in weakness. Faith is the victory that overcomes, not self-reliance.”
“Down there on earth independence served me quite well, thank you. What’s faith when you can achieve real, tangible goals with your own head and two hands? Hoping in the unseen is all very fine, but I prefer something more substantial.”
“And where now are those goals you achieved?” asked the Spirit quietly, with a hint of mirth about his mouth. “What profit now does the gain of the world bring? And come—look at yourself—don’t tell me you’re not ‘hoping in the unseen’ by trusting in those shadowy legs of yours to get you to the mountains.”
The Ghost said nothing. I saw him look at his phantasmal feet, and for a moment in the stillness I thought I saw the beginnings of a rueful, sheepish smile begin.
“Will you not trust? Give up yourself; then you will truly find life. But you cannot come to Him and retain your self-made godhood.”
The beginnings of the smile disappeared. “I’ve got to make my own way. If I can’t get there on my own two feet, I shouldn’t be worthy to go,” the Ghost persisted stubbornly, sullenly.
“But that’s just it—you’re not worthy. None of us are worthy. You think by insisting on independence you’ll preserve your idol of self and dignity. But a self-focused self disintegrates: eventually it becomes near-nothingness—a hell of Godlessness. Only by grace will you find real dignity—dignity worth having, not because it’s your own, but because it is His. In Him everything achieves its true fullness: all is made worthy. So come—take my arm; trust—forget yourself.”
The Ghost drew himself up stiffly and began walking once more. “All your talk sounds very fine, but I’d much prefer doing things my way, if you don’t mind. After all, it’s a free land, isn’t it? We’re all entitled to our own methods.”
“No, here you are entitled to truth. Further up and further in the land becomes more real. Soon morning will come. It will tear you to pieces if you go on your own. Come—”
But the Ghost did not reply. He kept painfully walking and the Spirit followed. They went down a gully and the sound of the Solid One’s voice and the earth’s tremble from his tread dwindled, leaving the full silence unbroken once again.

I wrote this dialogue for a literature assignment last semester, as an imitation of C.S. Lewis's style in The Great Divorce.