November 11, 2010
Currents
It's that time of year again. Where my fingers itch to put pen to paper and write. This might be mostly due to the fact that the deadline for our art and literary magazine is fast approaching- Monday I believe. I wasn't really sure what to write, so I did a continuation of last year's story.
This is the original that I submitted last year. The new one is posted further down. Enjoy!
Sundance, 2009
The sun is blazing. It�s early summer and the young man has just exited the sweat lodge. Beads of perspiration drip steadily down the side of his face as he makes his way toward the center pole. Drums sound in his ears along with the voices carried by his tribe. The song reassures him, easing his fear. He�s ready to be pierced. Bone shards are skewed through his breast muscles and tied to the center pole. He does not focus on the pain. Instead, he listens to the beat of the drum and dances. His skin is pulled taunt, the bones trying to break through. But he continues to dance. Hours go by. Others chant along with the music as the young man dances. Blood runs down his chest and onto the ground as his skin becomes looser and looser in the dance, a sacrifice of himself to the earth. Finally, the bone shards break through and he falls back. The others catch him. He is now worthy. He can now receive a vision.
Sweat Lodge, 2010
Inside the sweat lodge, the young man couldn�t open his eyes- the pain from the ripped skin of his chest was too great. Instead, he tried to unfocus his thoughts, wavering between consciousness and trance. He heard the hiss of water being poured over the hot stones and the aromatic steam drifted around him, enveloped him. The sweet smell of sage and cedar was comforting. He smiled, breathing heavily through his nose, which was dripping sweat. He was faintly aware of the warm furs that covered him. Buffalo he processed through the haze that had become his mind. If only he could stop fighting it, let the trance consume him- but his thoughts were alive. Suddenly his body began to convulse and he clamped his jaw shut to keep from crying out. With each movement, the rawness of his wounds was more evident, the skin tearing more, new blood soaking into the skins. Then he met darkness.
In the darkness, the young man could still smell the sage- no, not sage. Not cedar either. It was pine, the sharp scent of pine that could always be detected with the first breaths of true winter. Again, he breathed in heavily and smiled. This was a scent that resonated with his soul, a scent that reminded him of happy times past. He began walking then just as the snow began to fall. A storm was coming, he was sure. He had to make it before it hit. But make it where? He didn�t know. He was lost, a wasteland of white surrounding him penetrated here and there with the tall trees that he could smell. He was lost.
Brother eagle, his spirit guide, screeched high above him in the snow sky and the young man tried to screech back, but his voice stayed still in his throat. So he began to run, spreading his arms out like wings so he could fly, but his feet remained planted to the ground. He jumped around and squawked, convinced that if he kept moving, the answers would come. What was happening? Why did his guide ignore him? That was why he had entered the dream world in the first place, wasn�t it? To meet with his spirit guide and convene- to discover truth. In desperation, the man collapsed to his knees and slammed his fists into the snow.
He didn�t hear her approach, didn�t even see her until he felt her hand on his head. Her fingers slid from the top of his head to tilt his chin up. She was dressed all in white, her head peeking out through a hood of the whitest buckskin he had ever seen. Black eyes as dark as obsidian smiled sadly at him. When she spoke, her voice was deep and husky. Somehow, he understood that she was the spirit of the moon.
�Why do you insist on following the wrong path, child of mine? Why do you reach for the sun when you belong to the moon?�
The man blinked at her dumbfounded. �But the eagle-�
�Is honorable and majestic, deserving great respect. But-� and here she stepped away from him. �-it is not in your nature to follow him nor in his to guide you. That is why you seek answers and wander off the path, lost and confused. You were following the wrong one all along.�
�And you are my spirit guide?� he stumbled over his words as he stared up at the lady moon. His fingers burned cold in the snow and he hoped it would bring him clarity because he was indeed confused. She was not flesh and bone that could lead him�
Moon inclined her head and laughed a small warm sound that filled his breast. �No, of course not. But my daughter is.� Her imaged shimmered and shifted before him and in a breath�s time a white wolf stood in her place. The creature shook herself, stretched the strong muscles in her neck and back, then stared him down, waiting. Hesitantly, he reached his hand up. He inched toward her, making slow nonaggressive movements, until his fingers brushed her black nose. She met his hand without pause and welcomed the scratches and rubs he offered, pushing her wet nose into the crook of his neck. Then she nipped him lightly and was off.
Before the young man could call out to her, ask her to wait, he fell forward, his body twisting, black fur sprouting from his skin in one swift motion that left him standing on all fours. His tail twitched up, his ears ticked back against his head, and his nose tasted the air in excitement. A yip called him forward and he answered with a deep howl towards the sky, where he knew the moon was watching. A feeling of complete joy trickled through him in quick spasms. Then he bounded off in pursuit of his spirit guide to discover his path at long last.
What do you think? Managed to write something a bit longer this time, didn't I? I wasn't sure how I liked the dialogue at first, but it will do. I'm much better at description in my own opinion. Anyway, all works here and mine and mine alone. I'm sure any attempts at plagiarism and what not will result in some sort of legal punishment, especially when I become a renown author. It could happen! :-D
scullerymaid at 2:19 p.m.