De Rigueur and Yes

Few things are better than good food and good music.

I’ve been enraptured with and enwrapped in music since I was…quite young.

I’m one of the few people I know who bathes in sound, who feels the vibrations like kisses on my skin, who hears the music of the universe in the sighs of trees.

And in the chirps and calls of The Old Ones who come to visit.

To share their songs.

And help me learn mine.

 

Family Photos

Sometimes I am so clever…

Like when I get a new camera to video the kids seated around the table.

And don’t realize I’m in picture mode, not video mode.

Fortunately, the kids forgive me these lapses.

Perhaps because they know I’m the Two-Legger who speaks gently to them.

Who views them as Brothers and Sisters of the Wood, not as pests and nuisances.

As both children of and representatives of The Old Ones.

Most people I encounter have no awareness of the life beyond their…ken.

It’s best to use old words, revered words, honored words, when working with The Old Ones.

Shows respect.

Or so I’ve been taught, anyway.

 

Busy Days in Raccoon Town

We are known by the Old Ones.

In our backyard, they gather for their feasts.

Being known by the ancients can be wonderful.

And wonderfully terrifying.

As I noted in The Shaman

CHAPTER 123 – THE FROG
I drive back from the Y, late Fall, late morning, and come around a curve as a frog hops into the road.
I swerve, drive on, complete the curve, pull over, stop.
The frog continues its journey into the road.
Others will not care if this one completes its journey or not. Some might see its movements against the wet tar of the road.
Two cars come around the curve in my rearview mirror.
I get out of my car, trot back up the road, find the frog dead, crushed and flattened, three-quarters of the way across.
I grieve. I should have acted sooner. I know what is important and what is not.
I cry, ask Frog’s forgiveness for not taking care of its shadow.
Sunlight comes over the hillock blinding the curve, shines on the grasses opposite me, steaming where the frog might have been.
A mist rises.
Shapes.
Coming forward.
Old Ones.
The First Ones.
The Ancients.
The True Ones of which all else is Shadow and Myth, a harmony of human and animal energies so I can understand.
A’blig’moodj, The Frog Prince, the one of whom one of my teachers is a shadow, walks forward, holds its hand up to me.
Behind him, beside him, Wolf, Bear, Stag, Eagle, Lion, Hawk, Moose, Whale, Dolphin, Salmon, Oak, Ash, Thorn, and more lost further back in the mist.
A Council of All Beings.
A Council of All First Ones.
A’blig’moodj’s mist forms around me. It takes my hand. I hear it inside me. “Do not grieve, Gio. This one was old and could not survive another winter. It is good he comes Home now.”
I fall to the pavement, shaking, terrified. To be in the presence of such energies. My bodies can not stand.
A’blig’moodj lifts me, holds me, stands me beside him. “You are known to us, and we thank you.”
It returns to The Ancients.
I crawl to my car, unable to drive, barely able to breathe.
To be known by The Ancients.
And live.

 

An Erasmus Sighting

It has been a while since we saw Erasmus.

Ever shy, ever watchful Erasmus.

Knowing the expected lifespan of Coyote in The Wild, I know he doesn’t have many seasons left with us.

We are here for just a little while.

No matter how long one lives, there is always something older, me thinks, to mourn our passing.

Back in my preaching days, I realized there were few pains greater than a parent outliving their children.

Although not genetically linked (unless you go way, way back), I tend to think of all The Wild as my children.

I’ve learned so much from them. Not sure what they’ve learned from me.

The Old Ones‘ first lesson is to be wise and, seeing the world around me, I doubt many willing to learn that lesson remain.

I will mourn the passing of my children.

Who is there who’ll mourn with me?

Who will be left to mourn me?

Another Frolly of Kits

Ah, the young ones.

Still too new to be given names.

A young boy once asked me how I knew the names of the different wildlife in our yard.

“How did I learn your name?”

“I told you.”

“And so do they.”

“The animals tell you their names?”

“Yes, and then I have to translate them into English.”

“How come you have to translate them into English?”

“So we can understand them.”

“What do they speak if they don’t speak English?”

“Raccoons speak Haccoun, Opossum speak Pezami, Fox speak…”

And so it goes.

And it doesn’t really matter.

Actions speak louder than words, you know…