I walk the floor and talk to myself. Living alone and in the woods I get away with this. The deer don’t mind, nor the coyotes. In this way I sift to the bottom of my beliefs, those smooth pebbles I trust. I saw an angel when I was ten. In the woods twice I have distinctly seen creatures not described in any book. The medicine plants have been put to the test more than once, so in my bones I know their power. Sometimes I am psychic, though usually I prefer to describe this as acutely perceptive. In dreams I am visited by amazing spirits that teach me more than I can hold. Over and over the spirits tell me that what is highest in the universe loves me. Sometimes I feel this reality, and sometimes I don’t. At night I walk into the woods and wonder how I know when the coyote is waiting and when she won’t be here until later. One night there is a growl and I smile – it isn’t the coyote, but I know who it is. She doesn’t mean any harm, only to tell me where she is. In the mountains, I feel eyes on my back. “There is no one here except me,” I tell myself. Nevertheless, I turn and there is the mountain’s peak revealed between trees. “Yes, I see you, too,” I say. The wind picks up and for no reason other than the beauty of the earth, I cry. None of these are experiences of the mind. All of them are the knowledge of the heart, knowing that is beyond what the brain can name. Still it is a comfort to walk the floor, to find these proofs, these gifts of the spirit. With them I find my ground. “This is where I stand,” I say. |
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October 2017
AuthorJune O'Brien is an author of fiction, non fiction and poetry, living in the Pacific Northwest. Categories |