Watching Moon, continuted
He lay looking up at the stars on what was one of the clearest nights that he could remember. His brothers and sisters the stars shinned their lamps from the sky world like a school of candlefish flashing in deep waters. He heard the call of a loon that sounded like a musician playing a lone flute. He was not afraid of wild animals or any ghost that might live on the island because he knew that the One Standing and Moving is far more powerful than any beast or shadow from the underworld. That night the exhausted Muxqueum fell asleep like a bird safe in its nest.
The next morning he gathered handfuls of tart berries for a meal and then paddled his skin boat around the island to explore it more fully. The wind and land seemed different than any place he had been before – innocent, untouched and free from the heaviness of rebellious spirits. The island, its tiny bays, waterfalls, rocky and sandy beaches, thick forests and mountain lay beneath the yellow sun surrounded by a calm blue-green sea. The scene was so peaceful that he knew the Great Spirit must be present – perhaps walking in secret just as the legends said.
Sea birds followed him as he made his way in and out of inlets until he found one inlet that continued a long ways into the heart of the southern end of the island. The narrow channel opened up to a large circular bay – larger than the one at Raven’s Harbor – exposed to the warmth of the sun all-day and protected from the ocean wind. A small island with three fir trees sat near the center of the harbor and at the far end a stream flowed over a white sandy beach from a meadow lined on both sides by red madrona and green cedar trees.
He beached the skin boat to explore the land around the inner harbor and found that the grassy meadow was full of flowers -- including the camas and bloodroot plants that his mother always sought. Among the grass grew stalks of purple onions and masses of tiny strawberry plants some still baring red fruit.
He thought, “This would be an ideal location for a village.”
And knew that his mother would be pleased to see it if she could. It reminded him of what he always thought the happy hunting grounds might look like for those Wonderful Doer welcomes after death.
Muxqueum camped at Bloodroot Bay for several days, then set out through the forests to explore the mountain to the north. Strangely one night he saw flickering light from what seemed a campfire near the mountain’s top and was curious what it could be. He wondered who tended that fire. Perhaps people lived here after all and he could trade with them. But, in the daytime he saw no smoke. It also seemed strange for a people to camp high on a mountain instead of down near the waterways. It could be the fire of a shaman. There would be no other quest seeker this late in the year. The glowing image of the fire filled his thoughts and he was determined to climb to the summit and see it.
He walked a full day into the forest alive with deer and elk grazing among the sword ferns and moss covered logs and rocks. He wore the cedar bark rain hat and tunic and brought his bow and arrows and his supply sack of dried meat and berries to eat. He crossed many small streams filled with the largest rainbow trout he had ever seen and drank from cold pools fed by tiny waterfalls that were surrounded by red huckleberry and round leafed salal shrubs. In a place where the stream flowed slowly, the giant blades of skunk cabbage grew in black sand, reaching almost as tall as a boy. Those leaves would be good for cooking a king salmon, he thought as he walked past a grove of cedar trees that looked like a village of cedar plank lodges.
White beams of sunlight shot through waving branches, casting a green shadow all around. The whole forest seemed to breath like a sleeping person. He noticed a long single strand of spider web, caught in a shaft of sunlight, drifting between the massive trees. It must be a tear of grandmother forest, he thought.
As he began to climb the foothills of the mountain he noticed something white on the branch of a maple tree directly in front of the deer trail that he followed. The branch was covered with thick moss and many tree ferns. The hanging ferns reminded him of the inside of a lodge with pelts and dried fish hanging from the rafters. He grew nearer to the white object and realized that it was a large bird, an owl sitting still before him a little higher than his reach. The owl was mostly white with some black spots -- like snow melting in gravel -- and his feet were covered in downy feathers that looked like frost-covered moccasins. With yellow eyes the owl stared down at Muxqueum -- who froze in fear.
He considered if this was his animal spirit helper or even the white bird sent to save the world as told in the creation story. Neither the brave nor the owl moved for many breathes. Then in an instant the bird opened his wide wings and leaped into the air, flapping silently to another mossy limb on the next large maple tree. The bird turned and stared back at Muxqueam as if inviting him to follow. Carefully he walked again toward the owl and when he was close enough that he could easily shoot it with his bow and arrow, the bird flew to another tree.
Now Muxqueum was sure that the snowy owl was leading him on his way to the mountaintop and the strange fire. He continued to follow each new perch up the hills until nightfall. As the sun set the owl seemed to disappear into the wind. That night he slept without a fire, wrapped in his rain cloak at the base of a massive cedar tree. The moon was full by now and shown though the patches of starry sky visible between the tops of cedars. It cast a pale light on the forest floor bright enough to see almost like early dawn.
The dim light reminded him of the teachings of his mother who said that ever since Raven stole the sun, moon and stars box of heaven, our world has been bathed in spiritual twilight – just enough light to see what is real if you are looking but, simultaneously haunted by shadows and uncertain shapes.
The forest was quiet, except for the stirring of some elk near by nosing for food among the salal plants and grasses. As he sat with his head upon his knees and covered in the warm tunic, he heard an elk snort contentedly in the distance and felt hoofs of the heavy animal beat the ground as it walked. He fell asleep.
Then Muxqueum awoke to hear a most frightening sound. He had heard the sounds of battle as a Tsonox warrior and the death cries of bears killed with many spears, but this shocking moan loud above his head chilled him so deeply that he began to shake.
"Hooo-uh, hooo-uh, hooo-uh, wuh-wuh-wuh."
He couldn’t locate exactly where the call came from. It seemed to resonate from all the trees obscuring the glowing circle of the moon. It was as if the moon spoke. But, he knew that the supernatural sound was the voice of an owl.
Perhaps the bird was a rebellious ghost who led him to this spot as a trap. He had heard stories of men ticked by the spirits. He feared that his life’s quest was over and that his soul might be carried away to the sky world and his body turned into a wild man doomed to wander the forest thickets forever. He wanted to reach for his pack and the thunderbird amulet, but he could not move his arms or body for fear.
"Hooo-uh, hooo-uh, hooo-uh, wuh-wuh-wuh."
He tried singing a prayer song for courage, but could only move his lips. Sweat covered his skin.
"Hooo-uh, hooo-uh, hooo-uh.”
Muxqueum sat in terror beneath the tree without moving until the moon passed out of sight and the call of the owl had long ceased. He wasn’t sure if a spirit had caught his soul like a bird of prey snatches a mouse. He finally took hold of his amulet and his quartz knife and clutched them to his chest and drifted off to sleep in the dark.
Sometime later he dreamed of a beautiful young woman with fine, shoulder length black hair and wearing a necklace of shell beads and a soft rawhide skirt with many mother of pearl buttons. The beautiful young woman drew near to him -- as if she had always known him – and looked into his face with dark eyes. She then reached out delicate hands to stroke his hair, face and neck.
“My darling,” she said in a hollow voice that seemed to come from inside his head.
When he awoke the next morning he felt shame for being so afraid of the owl’s call. Encountering a supernatural animal is what anyone on a quest should expect. Maybe he should have spoken back to the bird? His fear may have disqualified him in the quest by dishonoring the owl’s overtures. He remembered the dream of the young woman with dark eyes touching his hair and wondered what the message from the dream world could mean. He hoped that the vision might someday come true in the waking world of land and wind.
Just then he looked down and saw two large, white feathers on the ground at his feet. Owl feathers! He picked them up and brushed his face and lips with the smooth blades. What a fortune to find these mementos, he thought, realizing that the feathers came from the wings of his mysterious guide.
Back at Raven’s Harbor these chiefly white birds sometimes came to visit the people in the month-of-bear-digging and could be seen perched on driftwood watching with yellow eyes women collecting shellfish or men fishing in the inland waters throughout the winter. He knew that snowy owls fly silently like falling snow and are able to see the smallest prey in the dimmest light of dawn or dusk. The Tsonox say that this bird rules the winter and that his cousin the eagle rules the summer. In the spring they say that he returns to his summer village in the sky world, riding the first winds of spring.
Muxqueum took some whale-gut fishing line and tied the white feathers into his hair on each side of his head. He wore these feathers for the rest of his life and from that day on took the name of Snowy Owl of the Kaw-Seth. He never saw the bird again, except in his dreams.
That day Snowy Owl set his mind to climbing the rocky hills, pulling himself up the steep incline of boulders and white granite slabs of the Lost Island Mountain. Often he thought that he had reached the top, only to realize that the brief level plateau lead to another climb. From near the top looking down he could see the curve of the horizon and the ocean shinning blue below and imagined that the view was the same that a proud eagle might see soaring to some rocky perch.
Reaching the third plateau he rested on a thick mat of moss, as soft as an otter pelt, that reminded him of the bed that his mother made for him when he was a child. He laid back and watched the clouds. He knew that Naida was chanting for him and he could feel the power of her songs – as if the Great Spirit was leading him by the hand. He felt the presence of Wonderful Doer all around him that day. Each breath was filled with the expectation that he walked near a sacred place -- a place he was meant to discover.
As he paused to rest, he looked out at the beauty of the mountain and down to the waters and wished that he had the wings of a heron or gull so that he could reach the highest peak quickly through the sky. Here at this magical perch, high above the surf, it seemed that flying into the clouds should be as effortless as walking – his high destination appeared just a step away. He wondered if this urge to escape the grip of the earth signaled that the end of his journey was near. He had been told that on a quest there comes a moment when the Transformer moves to change the seeker into a new man, a true Kaw-Seth. Maybe what he felt was the hand of the Creator tugging his heart like a fisherman pulling up a fishing line.
At that moment he looked past a group of short, wind-dwarfed fir trees and could see a dark triangular opening in the side of the moss covered rock wall at the far side of the ledge. He walked over to see that the opening was about the size of the door to a lodge and he cautiously bent down and stepped inside. The cave was dimly lit by the waning sunlight of evening shinning through the door. The floor was dry and sandy and, surprisingly, slightly warm to the touch. He patted the sand and stone floor. How could the earth be warm, he thought.
Then he remembered stories of the fire mountain that erupted in anger when rebellious spirits trapped in the rocks broke out to burn away the earth. According to the stories a great fire came down from the mountain and burned up many forests and villages for as far as anyone could see. The warm ground means that this place must also be a fire mountain and more spirits are trapped in these stones, he thought.
But, he didn’t feel the presence of evil here. He felt peace. The rocks blocked out all sound from the outside world -- creating a deep silence. All he heard was his own breathing. As his eyes became adjusted to the dark, he saw cedar bark mats on the floor and his heart pulsed. People do live on the Lost Island. The floor of the cave reflected light from many broken, shinny black rocks and sparkled like the surface of the ocean in the sun. The limited light that disappeared into complete blackness before his eyes made it hard to see far. But, he looked up and noticed the shapes of art work painted on smooth walls and ceiling directly above – yes, it was a bear on one side, a Thunderbird at the top and a salmon and the other side of the space shaped like the inside of a giant hollowed out log canoe turned upside down for storage.
On the ceiling, the claws of Thunderbird touched the head of the bear and her beak touched the salmon and the wings pattern spread down the middle of the passage. Although he recognized the charcoal animal images, he had never seen this design before. Each tribe has a distinctive style and this one was very fine and inspiring.
Now Muxqueum Snowy Owl felt sure that the Great Spirit had led him to this cave, because the Thunderbird is a sign of hope for the Kaw-Seth. He danced the steps to the Thunderbird dance and softly sang the ancient song taught to him by his mother. The echoing of his voice revealed that the cave must lead deeper into the center of the mountain than the small part that he explored. He wondered if the opening in the rock continued down into the underworld. While he had explored caves before when on sea lion hunting trips, he knew that this one was different. It had the quietness of a sacred place.
Yellow light from the setting sun hit his face as he withdrew from the mouth of the cave. The blast of sunlight stretching across the horizon hurt his eyes and seemed more intense than he could remember when looking into the sun before. As the burning mask sent out a final burst before submerging into the waters, he rubbed his eyes and thought that the face of Wonderful Doer must look something like that. It took a few moments for the light to drive away the cave’s darkness from his body.
Then he understood that the cave was part of the underworld and that the world of land and wind outside was his domain. He much preferred the world of light and vowed never to spend too much time in the underworld again, fearing that he might forget the beauty of things clearly seen. He camped at the mouth of the cave that night.
Next chapter
The next morning he gathered handfuls of tart berries for a meal and then paddled his skin boat around the island to explore it more fully. The wind and land seemed different than any place he had been before – innocent, untouched and free from the heaviness of rebellious spirits. The island, its tiny bays, waterfalls, rocky and sandy beaches, thick forests and mountain lay beneath the yellow sun surrounded by a calm blue-green sea. The scene was so peaceful that he knew the Great Spirit must be present – perhaps walking in secret just as the legends said.
Sea birds followed him as he made his way in and out of inlets until he found one inlet that continued a long ways into the heart of the southern end of the island. The narrow channel opened up to a large circular bay – larger than the one at Raven’s Harbor – exposed to the warmth of the sun all-day and protected from the ocean wind. A small island with three fir trees sat near the center of the harbor and at the far end a stream flowed over a white sandy beach from a meadow lined on both sides by red madrona and green cedar trees.
He beached the skin boat to explore the land around the inner harbor and found that the grassy meadow was full of flowers -- including the camas and bloodroot plants that his mother always sought. Among the grass grew stalks of purple onions and masses of tiny strawberry plants some still baring red fruit.
He thought, “This would be an ideal location for a village.”
And knew that his mother would be pleased to see it if she could. It reminded him of what he always thought the happy hunting grounds might look like for those Wonderful Doer welcomes after death.
Muxqueum camped at Bloodroot Bay for several days, then set out through the forests to explore the mountain to the north. Strangely one night he saw flickering light from what seemed a campfire near the mountain’s top and was curious what it could be. He wondered who tended that fire. Perhaps people lived here after all and he could trade with them. But, in the daytime he saw no smoke. It also seemed strange for a people to camp high on a mountain instead of down near the waterways. It could be the fire of a shaman. There would be no other quest seeker this late in the year. The glowing image of the fire filled his thoughts and he was determined to climb to the summit and see it.
He walked a full day into the forest alive with deer and elk grazing among the sword ferns and moss covered logs and rocks. He wore the cedar bark rain hat and tunic and brought his bow and arrows and his supply sack of dried meat and berries to eat. He crossed many small streams filled with the largest rainbow trout he had ever seen and drank from cold pools fed by tiny waterfalls that were surrounded by red huckleberry and round leafed salal shrubs. In a place where the stream flowed slowly, the giant blades of skunk cabbage grew in black sand, reaching almost as tall as a boy. Those leaves would be good for cooking a king salmon, he thought as he walked past a grove of cedar trees that looked like a village of cedar plank lodges.
White beams of sunlight shot through waving branches, casting a green shadow all around. The whole forest seemed to breath like a sleeping person. He noticed a long single strand of spider web, caught in a shaft of sunlight, drifting between the massive trees. It must be a tear of grandmother forest, he thought.
As he began to climb the foothills of the mountain he noticed something white on the branch of a maple tree directly in front of the deer trail that he followed. The branch was covered with thick moss and many tree ferns. The hanging ferns reminded him of the inside of a lodge with pelts and dried fish hanging from the rafters. He grew nearer to the white object and realized that it was a large bird, an owl sitting still before him a little higher than his reach. The owl was mostly white with some black spots -- like snow melting in gravel -- and his feet were covered in downy feathers that looked like frost-covered moccasins. With yellow eyes the owl stared down at Muxqueum -- who froze in fear.
He considered if this was his animal spirit helper or even the white bird sent to save the world as told in the creation story. Neither the brave nor the owl moved for many breathes. Then in an instant the bird opened his wide wings and leaped into the air, flapping silently to another mossy limb on the next large maple tree. The bird turned and stared back at Muxqueam as if inviting him to follow. Carefully he walked again toward the owl and when he was close enough that he could easily shoot it with his bow and arrow, the bird flew to another tree.
Now Muxqueum was sure that the snowy owl was leading him on his way to the mountaintop and the strange fire. He continued to follow each new perch up the hills until nightfall. As the sun set the owl seemed to disappear into the wind. That night he slept without a fire, wrapped in his rain cloak at the base of a massive cedar tree. The moon was full by now and shown though the patches of starry sky visible between the tops of cedars. It cast a pale light on the forest floor bright enough to see almost like early dawn.
The dim light reminded him of the teachings of his mother who said that ever since Raven stole the sun, moon and stars box of heaven, our world has been bathed in spiritual twilight – just enough light to see what is real if you are looking but, simultaneously haunted by shadows and uncertain shapes.
The forest was quiet, except for the stirring of some elk near by nosing for food among the salal plants and grasses. As he sat with his head upon his knees and covered in the warm tunic, he heard an elk snort contentedly in the distance and felt hoofs of the heavy animal beat the ground as it walked. He fell asleep.
Then Muxqueum awoke to hear a most frightening sound. He had heard the sounds of battle as a Tsonox warrior and the death cries of bears killed with many spears, but this shocking moan loud above his head chilled him so deeply that he began to shake.
"Hooo-uh, hooo-uh, hooo-uh, wuh-wuh-wuh."
He couldn’t locate exactly where the call came from. It seemed to resonate from all the trees obscuring the glowing circle of the moon. It was as if the moon spoke. But, he knew that the supernatural sound was the voice of an owl.
Perhaps the bird was a rebellious ghost who led him to this spot as a trap. He had heard stories of men ticked by the spirits. He feared that his life’s quest was over and that his soul might be carried away to the sky world and his body turned into a wild man doomed to wander the forest thickets forever. He wanted to reach for his pack and the thunderbird amulet, but he could not move his arms or body for fear.
"Hooo-uh, hooo-uh, hooo-uh, wuh-wuh-wuh."
He tried singing a prayer song for courage, but could only move his lips. Sweat covered his skin.
"Hooo-uh, hooo-uh, hooo-uh.”
Muxqueum sat in terror beneath the tree without moving until the moon passed out of sight and the call of the owl had long ceased. He wasn’t sure if a spirit had caught his soul like a bird of prey snatches a mouse. He finally took hold of his amulet and his quartz knife and clutched them to his chest and drifted off to sleep in the dark.
Sometime later he dreamed of a beautiful young woman with fine, shoulder length black hair and wearing a necklace of shell beads and a soft rawhide skirt with many mother of pearl buttons. The beautiful young woman drew near to him -- as if she had always known him – and looked into his face with dark eyes. She then reached out delicate hands to stroke his hair, face and neck.
“My darling,” she said in a hollow voice that seemed to come from inside his head.
When he awoke the next morning he felt shame for being so afraid of the owl’s call. Encountering a supernatural animal is what anyone on a quest should expect. Maybe he should have spoken back to the bird? His fear may have disqualified him in the quest by dishonoring the owl’s overtures. He remembered the dream of the young woman with dark eyes touching his hair and wondered what the message from the dream world could mean. He hoped that the vision might someday come true in the waking world of land and wind.
Just then he looked down and saw two large, white feathers on the ground at his feet. Owl feathers! He picked them up and brushed his face and lips with the smooth blades. What a fortune to find these mementos, he thought, realizing that the feathers came from the wings of his mysterious guide.
Back at Raven’s Harbor these chiefly white birds sometimes came to visit the people in the month-of-bear-digging and could be seen perched on driftwood watching with yellow eyes women collecting shellfish or men fishing in the inland waters throughout the winter. He knew that snowy owls fly silently like falling snow and are able to see the smallest prey in the dimmest light of dawn or dusk. The Tsonox say that this bird rules the winter and that his cousin the eagle rules the summer. In the spring they say that he returns to his summer village in the sky world, riding the first winds of spring.
Muxqueum took some whale-gut fishing line and tied the white feathers into his hair on each side of his head. He wore these feathers for the rest of his life and from that day on took the name of Snowy Owl of the Kaw-Seth. He never saw the bird again, except in his dreams.
That day Snowy Owl set his mind to climbing the rocky hills, pulling himself up the steep incline of boulders and white granite slabs of the Lost Island Mountain. Often he thought that he had reached the top, only to realize that the brief level plateau lead to another climb. From near the top looking down he could see the curve of the horizon and the ocean shinning blue below and imagined that the view was the same that a proud eagle might see soaring to some rocky perch.
Reaching the third plateau he rested on a thick mat of moss, as soft as an otter pelt, that reminded him of the bed that his mother made for him when he was a child. He laid back and watched the clouds. He knew that Naida was chanting for him and he could feel the power of her songs – as if the Great Spirit was leading him by the hand. He felt the presence of Wonderful Doer all around him that day. Each breath was filled with the expectation that he walked near a sacred place -- a place he was meant to discover.
As he paused to rest, he looked out at the beauty of the mountain and down to the waters and wished that he had the wings of a heron or gull so that he could reach the highest peak quickly through the sky. Here at this magical perch, high above the surf, it seemed that flying into the clouds should be as effortless as walking – his high destination appeared just a step away. He wondered if this urge to escape the grip of the earth signaled that the end of his journey was near. He had been told that on a quest there comes a moment when the Transformer moves to change the seeker into a new man, a true Kaw-Seth. Maybe what he felt was the hand of the Creator tugging his heart like a fisherman pulling up a fishing line.
At that moment he looked past a group of short, wind-dwarfed fir trees and could see a dark triangular opening in the side of the moss covered rock wall at the far side of the ledge. He walked over to see that the opening was about the size of the door to a lodge and he cautiously bent down and stepped inside. The cave was dimly lit by the waning sunlight of evening shinning through the door. The floor was dry and sandy and, surprisingly, slightly warm to the touch. He patted the sand and stone floor. How could the earth be warm, he thought.
Then he remembered stories of the fire mountain that erupted in anger when rebellious spirits trapped in the rocks broke out to burn away the earth. According to the stories a great fire came down from the mountain and burned up many forests and villages for as far as anyone could see. The warm ground means that this place must also be a fire mountain and more spirits are trapped in these stones, he thought.
But, he didn’t feel the presence of evil here. He felt peace. The rocks blocked out all sound from the outside world -- creating a deep silence. All he heard was his own breathing. As his eyes became adjusted to the dark, he saw cedar bark mats on the floor and his heart pulsed. People do live on the Lost Island. The floor of the cave reflected light from many broken, shinny black rocks and sparkled like the surface of the ocean in the sun. The limited light that disappeared into complete blackness before his eyes made it hard to see far. But, he looked up and noticed the shapes of art work painted on smooth walls and ceiling directly above – yes, it was a bear on one side, a Thunderbird at the top and a salmon and the other side of the space shaped like the inside of a giant hollowed out log canoe turned upside down for storage.
On the ceiling, the claws of Thunderbird touched the head of the bear and her beak touched the salmon and the wings pattern spread down the middle of the passage. Although he recognized the charcoal animal images, he had never seen this design before. Each tribe has a distinctive style and this one was very fine and inspiring.
Now Muxqueum Snowy Owl felt sure that the Great Spirit had led him to this cave, because the Thunderbird is a sign of hope for the Kaw-Seth. He danced the steps to the Thunderbird dance and softly sang the ancient song taught to him by his mother. The echoing of his voice revealed that the cave must lead deeper into the center of the mountain than the small part that he explored. He wondered if the opening in the rock continued down into the underworld. While he had explored caves before when on sea lion hunting trips, he knew that this one was different. It had the quietness of a sacred place.
Yellow light from the setting sun hit his face as he withdrew from the mouth of the cave. The blast of sunlight stretching across the horizon hurt his eyes and seemed more intense than he could remember when looking into the sun before. As the burning mask sent out a final burst before submerging into the waters, he rubbed his eyes and thought that the face of Wonderful Doer must look something like that. It took a few moments for the light to drive away the cave’s darkness from his body.
Then he understood that the cave was part of the underworld and that the world of land and wind outside was his domain. He much preferred the world of light and vowed never to spend too much time in the underworld again, fearing that he might forget the beauty of things clearly seen. He camped at the mouth of the cave that night.
Next chapter
0 Comments:
Post a Comment