Lynx’s Story 2010
With thanks to:
Dan, Naomi, John Micheal, JT and Eric


I greet the day, I greet the day, I greet the first day. Sunrise. The air is warm, it caresses me. Huddled forms of my companions surround me. A few slow mosquitoes search for blood. Soft sounds of water flowing downward, downward pulled by the inevitable forces of gravity.
Slowly the mountains crumble.

I have been reveling in my body, the comfort of movement, stretch and gentle friction. A handful of soft ripe huckleberries, sensation after sensation as the sun rises higher and the ants grow active.

Slow hike toward the pass. Sweat dampened brow and back, weight shifted from shoulder straps to head tump line and back again, lessons from the Old Ones.

Whose voice wrestled through my consciousness last night by the dying embers? Mesmerizing in it’s foreigness, it’s truth, it’s power.

One by one the familiar patterns appeared in the darkening sky: Delphinius, Corona Borealis, the Dipper pointing North and there, yes, my seven sisters, Pleiades filling me with that wonder at the unspeakable grandness of infinity.

High mountain lake, pristine purity. Snow melts in from the edges and I gasp at the shock of immersion.

Roving up the trail, bow in hand, light as air I float, drift, dance across lupine filled meadows. I am alive, I am pure perfection, moment by moment, utterly taken by the beauty.

Stillness and silence broken by voices singing first deep and low, harmonies layering one upon the other, jumbled as the jagged rocks.

Stories unfold thick as mosquitoes of distant lands and perilous adventures.

Paradise basin. I am in love with the land. Amongst the rocks and larches I am filled with shameless joy.

The sun touches my cheeks, it wrinkles the skin into stories of the past and the ancestors smile at my human folly.

I do not hunger for anything. I eat sparsely and yet the sense of overflow is nearly overwhelming. I am full, so full with energy, life force, appreciation.
I have no boundaries, I am limitless.
Endless cycles of darkness and moon rise. In the absolute stillness of the night air the fire spits amongst the boulders. How many times and in how many ways can I express my gratitude?

Lazy, tea in bed.
Warm wrapped in buffalo robes I sing a love song to the Earth. Light clouds lace the morning sky bringing with them the possibility of rain.

Young grouse receives an arrow. The clouds build and the small cave is filled with duff.

Crash back to reality and nature's impartiality. Too sudden a wake up I crawl into the cave to arise more slowly.
We talked of death and after-life and mysterious, inexplicable things.

I break through a thin layer of ice to bathe my dusty body. My breath streams forth in clouds of vapor.
Stark, geometric tracks mark the trail. Our soft, padded moccasins gentle the edges and fade amidst needles and stone.

Fat grasshoppers tied to a bone fish hook slung into the lake. The fish bite once, twice then too savvy to try again.

Frozen toes warmed by a hasty fire.

Songs float on the evening breeze and the sky clears to a frosty night.

They step their last days into the Stone Age.

New names flutter amongst them: Ursa, Orn, Papillion, Idden, Gabion, Dragonfly.

Two return to the "Other World" to appease the great powers. The rest hike with them to the pass where they separate.

Golden wings and compound eyes, a dragonfly alights on a woman's finger.
She smiles.

The woman, I remember is myself.

Sticky pine cones high in pitchy branches. The tree swings wildly in warm morning sun.
A nameless lake. Rocks tumble echoing through the basin. A splendid white mountain goat takes careful steps up the scree slopes.

Impossibly blue and icy water races up to meet me as I dive from a pointed rock.
The fish scatter and I am reminded what it means to be right here in this absolute moment.
Sun warms tingling skin as I lie upon strewn larch needles.

Delicious sense of well earned fatigue. Soft clouds illuminated by an unseen moon drift over the ridge. What is that noise? I listen with rapt attention. Slowly the dawning realization, it is the thrum of the Earth. The Earth softly sings it's lullaby and I am led to dreamless sleep.

In the light of the full moon's face I am awoken by shuffling. The handsome mountain goat is foraging close by. I watch him, minutes pass. He is the Spirit of the mountain, his hooves clatter on the rocks as he leaves.

A day of sunshine and water. I feed on these elements, I thirst for both.
I gaze at the fish all day, they are curious, clever, individual and oh so beautiful.

There image imprinted like negatives on my eyes they dart amongst the stars at night.

South-East breeze. The sky loads the horizon with heavy gray and white clouds. A hasty return to the camp to protect the food.
Low clouds and spits of rain we load everything into the small cave and wonder if we ourselves will fit in.

So full. Everything larger than life. All senses magnified. I feel that I am swirling in something so gigantic, separate and yet connected to the entire Universe.

Tension arising with the cold wind and heavy sky. Restlessness, discomfort.
Laughter and singing still reach my ears in the peace and sanctity of the cave. Sleep. Rest. More grandeur awaits us all.

Such elemental existence: the sky, the earth, fire, water.... all else fades away. All else appears trivial and meaningless except the hearts of my enduring and loving companions.

We enter the burn. Sick forest cleansed by wildfire. Needles cover the ground, buckskin colored, we blend.

Deeper. Ankle deep ash billows to our knees obscuring the trail.

Thunder rolls down the canyon and cautious drops of rain. Weary we make camp preparing for the worst but we are rewarded by a clearing night sky.

I awake predawn, waning moon illuminating the burnt forest, black and gray. I dream our next move, reluctant leader I assume my position.

Charred moonscape, blackened towers loom above and around us. There amongst the ashes the brittle bones of a casualty of flames and smoke.

The trail widens.....
transforms into a wide strip of pavement.

My callused bare feet and our dusty weathered buckskins draw stares and questions from both locals and gaping tourists.

We make up lies to amuse ourselves; 26 years in the hills, come looking for mates for our children.

Lake shore. Again dark clouds threaten. Memories flooding back from half my lifetime ago when I first loved these torn and craggy peaks.
Low elevation, warm night.
Funny dreams wake me up laughing, sad dreams wake me up crying. The richness of my experience fills my being.

Young black bear scampers away through an old burn as we toil up toward the ridge.

No shelter in sight, I am tested. "Leadership is never offered, it must be taken." The words of my friend rebound in my head until finally I assert myself.

We make camp close to one of the few unburned trees. Buried deep in bear scat we dry wet clothes and moccasins beside a raging fire. Fire both gives and takes away.

The feather is passed. Communication is the key. The race for home, pain and discomfort threaten my fantasy.

The sky holds out. The Thunder Gods let us sleep in peace close to glowing embers.

They do not however let us walk in peace. The rain comes down in gentle showers and droplets quickly transfer from bushes to buckskins.
We make the ridge, damp and cold but as a new fire burns brightly beside the canopy of a sheltering spruce,

we eat and eat, ladling huge spoonfuls of fat into every clay pot

and pasting it upon dried meat and berry cakes.

The rain persists. Dampened buckskins cling coldly. The giant spruce does her best to keep us dry through the night but still the rain seeps down between the spreading needles as we curl tighter toward the girth or the great tree.

A breeze blows in a gray dawn and temporary lull. I know we must cross the pass today. The possibility of snow and the promise of Winter seem right now merely a breath away.
I ask the Spirits for power. They constantly oblige me.
The sky clears, cloud remnants hurtle past from the West.

We walk. We walk forward in time, out of the Stone Age, into a time that I both dread and fear. I walk last.

Give me the power to keep walking.
Give me the power to know the Truth.
Give me the power to offer Love.
Give me the power to keep Peace.
Give me the power to open hearts.
Give me the power to see beauty.
Give me the power to know Grace.
Give me the power to keep walking.
The mantra repeats itself over and over as I stumble into a future I resist.
Only when the vessel has been full and over flowing can it also know emptiness and depletion.

Re-entry. My thoughts scatter like beasts fleeing into unknown territory. I try to round them back into single minded focus but I fail.
In the dreamy transition between my dual realities I shift back into linear thought process governed by time and space concepts. My wholeness is fractured.

This is not home.

My heart, tender beyond belief for the Emerald Planet.