Totem
It begins with lost love. I am foolish enough to believe that an incredible sexual relationship, my first beyond juvenile fumblings, is meant to be a romantic relationship. A cruel correction makes me despondent, morose. I nurture my depression with an involuntary fast lasting two days, two sleepless nights. On the second night, lying in bed bathed by the light of the full moon, I formulate a plan to ease my troubled heart.
I rise at dawn, setting off for a nearby creek which tumbles from the mountains to the south. Where the creek meets the city, just before it disappears into culverts and runs under the streets, is a park where I played as a child. Starting here, I can follow the creek up into the mountains back to its source.
As I travel upward I pass small ponds where trout leap to catch waterstriders. A cave draws me into the mountain but the cave is empty and I return to the light giftless.
Now cut from naked rock by the creek, the little canyon is increasingly steep. Turning a bend, I confront a waterfall a hundred feet high. Fine mist caresses me as I consider my options. If I return to the park I can take trails that bypass the falls, but then I would no longer be exploring the creek. I choose instead to scale the cliff beside the waterfall.
Cracked and broken by winter ices, the cliff tempts my hands and feet. The rock here is rotten, and the many ledges crumble easily. Halfway up, I am making no vertical progress, passing back and forth across the face seeking a safe handhold. If I fell now I would break on the rocks, end up lifeless in the ribbon of creek below. I observe a tiny ancient ponderosa pine tree whose exposed root snakes down the cliff to the water below.
Tense hours pass. I am tiring, my fingers aching, all muscles fully exerting. This must end soon or I will fail, make a mistake, and die. Finally I reach the top, placing my hands carefully on the edge and drawing my head over it.
Waiting for me, inches from my face, is an animal. He is low to the ground. His eyes look directly into mine. His yellow claws almost touch my hands. He bares his teeth. We are locked together, here where the cliff meets the sky, his eyes and my eyes. He can take my life if he chooses.
After forever, I look down at my hands, forcing them to pull me up. When I raise my head he is gone.
I have sorrowed, fasted, and contemplated under the full moon. I have pushed my limits, met danger with courage, I have quested for my spirit. And now I have a guide. He is my totem. I cannot tell you his name.
Robert Douglas Hickey |
