From the Inkwell |
The Journey
Ohana prepared the herbs and berries for the ceremonial tea and Pa'atineh put these along with some dried fish, fruit and berries in a pouch along with the whalebone bowl--all together in a bundle. Pa'atineh instructed, "This food is not for you to eat. It is an offering to the Spirit of the Night Sky, the One who will guide you. You must follow the path leading west out of the village until it disappears and there you will make your camp. You must not return until your search is finished. Remember the lessons you have been taught and you will know what to do." Pah left while the sun was still low in the sky and followed the path as he was told. He walked all day, stopping only to drink a little from the water skin. As night fell, the path was lit by the moon and he continued to walk, his youth giving him energy and his curiosity drawing him through unseen places. As morning came, he began to feel a little strain, but continued on the path. The sun rose on the second day and the path began to change, almost creating itself with each step the boy took. As grass gave way to cactus and scrub and the lush landscape turned into sand dunes, the path led to the sea and there it stopped in the dark of night. Here was where he must camp. He gathered stones and made a circle to protect him from the evil that hung in the night. He piled wood for his fire inside the circle on the south side. The food was placed on an animal skin on the west side--the water, bowl and herbs for the ceremonial tea on the north. Pah was to sit on the east side. When all this was done, he built a fire, made the tea, requested blessings from the four spirits and drank. It was not until then that he saw he was facing the sea. He began his watch. The night passed and the next day. On the third night, tired and hungry, he prepared another portion of the tea and sat waiting and watching. He began to fall asleep and shook his head to keep himself awake. A movement came from outside the circle and he turned to see a small, female coyote slowly come into his camp. She seemed unafraid and entered the circle. When she saw the food, she sniffed, ate and lay down by the fire. The boy was not disturbed because he knew that the Spirits often became animals to visit the people. Pah watched her and saw that she was soon to give birth. She was very young and looked too small to deliver healthy pups. As he watched, her breathing became heavy and she opened to slip out one small, dead pup. The afterbirth came, she consumed it and fell asleep without looking at her pup. Pah fell asleep. When he awoke in the morning the coyote was gone. He buried the too small pup where the young mother had slept. The fourth night began and Pah had the last portion of tea. As he drank, another boy, older and bigger, came to the camp. Pah swallowed the last of the drink and greeted the boy. "Who are you?" "I am another who is seeking a name." "Will you stay here in this circle of protection?" "No, Too Little Coyote,
I have come to take back the bowl that you have. It is mine.
I must return it." Pah stood, "This is my bowl, made by my father. Why do you call me that?" "I have been watching you and waiting for a good time. I saw you with the coyote and could not enter your circle then. It is not your bowl; it is mine, made by my father and I will take it now. "The boy pushed Pah, grabbed the bowl and ran from the circle. Frightened, Pah shouted, "I will find you and take it back on another day." He was very tired now and knew that the journey would come to an end soon. He slept. When he woke with the rising sun, the coyote had returned. She lay beside him and rested her head on his thigh. As he woke she licked his calf and stood. In a voice that was part breath and part bark, she beckoned him towards home. Pah knew that his journey had ended. The coyote walked with him back to his village and as he entered his family shelter, she lay down outside the door. Pa'atineh did not ask his son about the journey, but waited for him to speak. "I am to be called Too Little Coyote. I have lost the bowl of whalebone, but I will get it back one day." Excerpt from Tales of the Bearslayer by D. E. Edwards A work in progress. |
YEAH!
In my younger days I've had the pleasure of conversations that were sensational! Marathons that lasted for up to 30 hours talking, napping and then jumping right back in. The participants have been poets, musicians, artists, bus drivers, cabbies (philosophers all). I'll talk philosophy, religion or just bull with friends and say just enough to get them to ask for more. With some I'm a diplomat and with some I'm down right blunt. Expletives abound when appropriate and always honesty. I'll argue anything and I may say "that's stupid", but, I'll never say "You're stupid". All the dialects are usable,
available, useful. African "river" language, Gullah,
street talk (we used to call it jive). I go back South and that
ol' drawl slips back, even though my friends tease me about my
"Yankee" accent. Out west and I reckon I recall a slow
mosey as we parley the subject at hand. On the road, conversation
becomes thought, watching, listening, making snapshots in the
mind. Conversing when it's fitting and bringing it all back home.
A little Bukowski and Tom Waits and my arches turn to concrete,
my blood 100 proof, smoke, blues, greasy, streets in a blue 5am
mornin'. A few BBC reruns and bits and pieces nudge their way
in, uninvited, willy nilly. D. E. Edwards |
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