Deer/Me
It seems like I've always been afraid. One time when I was small, my mother tiptoed out into the field to check the air and suddenly took off running. I could smell her fear even though she didn't scream. The people were harmless, only a man and his boy, but I could tell, because my mother was so afraid that people must be bad. There are so many of them around it's hard to ever feel completely at ease. Only you can really understand.
I stood there watching as my totem turned to check the road behind us. She was always nervous, never trusting the day. Yes she was right. I understood. I am a part of her, just as she is a part of me. As she turned back toward me, I watched her graceful movements and thought how delicate and beautiful she was. It's not fair that such a lovely creature should be afraid to face the sun. I remember how she nodded in understanding when I told her I was her sister. My body is human, but my soul belongs to her people, the people of the deer. I've never felt comfortable among humans. I've learned to get along. I can smile and joke and even cry like them, but the only time I feel at home is when I am here, running through the field or standing at the top of a high cliff above the ocean.
My sister is the only one that truly understands me. Now as we walk, she tells me how she learned to read the minds of the birds.
"The first time I was alone" she begins, "I walked to the rise above the north bay. My mother had died only the morning before and I was so lonely I hoped I would die. I stood there watching the birds as they settled themselves for the night. One robin and his family were desperately trying to build a makeshift home for the night after losing theirs to some campers the night before. The male robin was bossing the job and jumping back and forth as if demented. The female was taking orders as if her life depended upon pleasing the ranting tyrant. The young were afraid and spent most of their time huddled up close to each other. When I saw the birds I began to cry. I was just turning away when a wren in the next tree hopped onto the branch just above my head. He nodded at me and I stopped. As he stood there looking at me, I could tell he wanted to speak, but didn't know how to make me understand.
Suddenly, I heard a voice. It was soft and caring, like the voice of my mother. It told me I was loved and that as long as the ocean moved its waves to the shore, I would belong here. It told me how each was a part of the other and how we all had someone to bring us through to the other side. It told me about my human half and that as long as we were together we would be whole.
I've always loved that story and every time she tells it to me I choke up. Sometimes, I feel that my sister is the only really good part of me I have here on this planet and if I watch her closely and follow her, someday I will be happy. I know that somehow she knows the places I need to go and the things I need to learn.
Last week she showed me a secret. She led me up to a grove of oak trees and pointed to some little golden-tan balls hanging on some of the branches. Then she showed me their secret. Inside the middle of each of the balls lives a little black wasp.
The more the deer and I talk, the more I learn. She told me how the Indians become their totem. They carve the animal’s likeness out of wood or stone and the image of the animal comes to them at night and helps them solve difficult problems. Sometimes, like now, I learn what fear is. As I listen to her speak, I know that the only really safe place on earth is in a dream.