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

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.
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…


Heloise Has the Munchies

Meal time at Chez Carrabis.

The ways of The Wild delight and amuse.

Yes, we feed those in The Wild.

And why not?

The pleasure they provide, the sheer joy of sharing with the Old Ones gladdens my heart and lifts me in ways interactions with own species seldom does.

If ever does.

It’s not that I don’t like people.

I’ve often told friends “People are wonderful! Lightly salted they’re delicious.”

budda boom


Once Best of Friends

Keeping up my credos in cultural anthro/folklore/myth society, I note I anthropomorphize The Wild.

Well Excu-use me!

(extra points for any readers who know that reference)

Folklore and Myth anthropomorphize The Wild to teach lessons, offer morality plays, share spiritual meaning, et cetera.

It’s much safer to do so using The Old Ones than to blatantly attribute bad behaviors – idiocy, greed, malice, avarice, and so on – to the individuals still living and still in power.

Doing so often results in a shortened tenure upon the planet.

Interestingly, the only individual who could safely (okay, somewhat safely) get away with doing so is what many cultures recognize as the Sacred Clown.

The Sacred Clown’s primary role was to speak truth to power and they often did so with humor. Many of today’s comedians share that they told jokes as children because they rapidly learned the bullies couldn’t hit you if they were laughing hard.

Sacred Clowns exist throughout history. George Carlin was one. Mort Sahl was another. Down through time they were Jesters, circus performers, thespians, and interestingly they tended to be people either intentionally or by self-design on the outskirts of society.

Better to observe from such positions, don’t you think?

So here we have two Rabbits, perhaps once best of friends, now not talking to each other.

Who know who slighted who, either real or imaginary.

And as that’s an anthropomorphization, I suspect imaginary.

How about you? What do you think?