The Shaman, Girl, & Raven

I'm an Indian in the American Southwest, in an era before the horses arrived in North America from the Spanish. I don't know the date or my name. I've live apart from the village for a very long time. I live in a mud and stone hut at the mouth of a very narrow and steep canyon. I picked this spot because there is a large flat area maybe 100 by 200 feet where the canyon suddenly opens up. There are abrupt rock walls behind me on the west. This shades me in the afternoon. The canyon opening faces east, which is perfect for my morning sunrise greeting. On the east side of this flat area it drops 20 to 30 feet to a talus slope that drops down further to a rolling hill, juniper open space with a range of mountains farther east, maybe three or four days walk away. The spring fed creek that flows through the narrow canyon runs at the edge of my flat and flows over the edge through a talus ravine to the desert floor and disappears into the earth near some cottonwood trees. I live alone here and am happy. I spend my days greeting the sun, connecting with all that is, and tending my small field near the creek. How rich can a man be? At night I travel and learn. 

Where the narrow canyon opens to my hut, it is lush, green and fragrant. There is a path there that leads up the canyon to the village. It's not far but not near. Maybe a walk from dawn to mid day. They are good people, even better when at a distance. I think I lived there a very long time ago, but I moved here when I was young and now I am just an old man. Someone comes from the village once a year, in spring, to see if I'm still here. They sometimes need me. The villagers live a good life, in the canyon and in the cliffs. I barely remember it. I learned and was instructed  there when I was a child and moved to here to learn more. So they still respect that I am part of them but here in retreat. They have a medicine woman in the village that treats injuries, herbs, potions, counseling, and offering wisdom. On occasion, once or twice a year, she has someone that she can do nothing for. It's then that the village sends that person down the canyon to me. I know when I see them exit the trail to my hut what they are here for. They may be with me from a few days to many days. I give them something to do during the days and then at night we sit and I travel for them. I seek their trouble, wrestle with it and bring it forth so the powers of life can dissolve it. I am their surrogate for what they cannot do themselves. I know how, I can do it, I do it. It is what I do. I expect no thanks or payment. Though, after fall harvest the village often brings some baskets of the bounty and quietly leaves them for me. It's a natural relationship. But occasionally when someone shows up, it feels like a distraction from my peace and work.

My path seems straight, but has become crooked. My desire to be one with the Great Spirit has become so strong that my focus has narrowed, my awareness shrunken and I don't realize it. In ritually embracing everything, I have forgotten all the individual specters that compose all that is. The specters seem to be a distraction and annoyance. I have become prideful of my accomplishments and arrogant in my abilities. I have forgotten gratitude, the seeds of truth that move and breathe in this world. A crack is forming in my world and it's about to be filled. Either to patch the crack or to push it wide open. Instead of creeping forward, I'm about to leap forward or fall backwards. In either case, it will be great learning experience. My raven knows and watches and waits.

And so she comes. She appears at the exit from the canyon. The village has not sent anyone since the last harvest, almost a year ago. She is a girl, barely 12 years old. Dressed in an old battered, dirty buckskin. But she is not like the others. She says that the villagers are gone. They have all left the canyon. They did not want to take her. She will not tell me why. They just sent her down the canyon to the old man. Gone? Gone where? Why? No answers. I liked being alone but I also like knowing they were up the canyon. But then it hits me. she is here to stay. No! This won't work. I don't know what to do with a 12 year old child. She will be a distraction. My work will be interrupted, all will be lost. This can't be. She looks up at me for acceptance and I am empty.

She cannot stay but I cannot send her away. I provide her a place to sleep and food daily. But I reject and ignore her. She is an interruption. She is always on the perimeter wanting and needing attention but I act as though she is not there and go on about my rituals. Time passes, about a year, perhaps more. The villagers don't return, they are gone for good. She is taller. She has put together tasks and routines to keep herself busy. I ignore them and continue my work.

​Then one morning I awake. I was sleeping outside on the ground, she is sleeping in the hut. I don't know why, perhaps she needed the extra warmth. I rise to see the dawn approaching. I walk into the hut and know something is not right. I approach her and sense and know before I reach her that she is dead. I am totally surprised. She is just dead. Why? I am stunned. I did not see this coming. I feel something drain away from my being. I was used to her now, going about the hut and field doing her work, making this and that without a word. I feel sadness wash over me. I wrap and prepare the body and carry her outside. I sit with the body for a long time. I bury her near the field where she enjoyed working. How could I not know she was ailing? I could have done something. 

I could have stopped this! My focus and desire was so much out there that I forgot all the rest. I forgot her. Shortly after she arrived she showed a quiet gratitude for me allowing her to stay by doing the work that needed doing, without prompting. In her own way, she took care of me. She silently moved behind the scenes to allow me to do my rituals. I had not noticed. In a totally silent way she tried to make her presence of value, helpful and a needed part of our scene. She did so much. I did not notice. I had forgotten what was important. I was blinded by my spiritual materialism. I now felt responsible, sad and a fool. 

I visited the grave everyday to give thanks and learn from her. A season or two passed and my last day came. I was old, tired, and worn out. I sat on the rocks watching the sunrise for the last time. As I sat, the only thing that filled my mind was her. I had been so prideful of what I thought I knew, so arrogant about my power, so blind. She was sent to teach me this, but I was not listening. I've been in the depth of swirling sadness everyday since she died. I sit here knowing these are my last moments and I cannot fight off the massive regret that fills me. As the sun rises, it grows dim and my last breath flows away into air flowing over the field, over the junipers, over the wings of the raven.