by Parris Match
Lengthy confirmative drought or overwhelming fearful deluge are not the deciding factor; extended relative time, to teach hope and resilience, will tell the end result. The stoic ruling Spirit of the constant consecrated elements, earth , air , water , and even fire, and the actual breath of the Spirit of Light; seasonal balance and divine celestial harmony, and the occasional whirlwind of a storm; would see the new dawn over the sheltered and containable valley of The Forgotten Ones.
The steady ardent flame of the benevolent Spirits, reflected in the bright eyes of the young boys, squatted before the luminous circle of fires light; all past the age and the erratic sparks of realization, held in rapt attention by the appointed leader of the people, the wise and even-tempered Story Teller. Whomever; regularly repeated the sincere lyrics of their inspirited ancestors, cultivating the novitiate-seeds to the traditions of their kind, and the honor and vibrant colors of their hereditary tribe. The innate and natural lessons, learned around the tended flame, within the surrounding fathomless night; to kindly remember the past, harmoniously live in the present, be filled with hope for the morrow; and to ease the discordant voices of the tempter’s army of vain arrogant demons, that presented obscure din to the ears, those mysterious garbled evil overbearing spirits in our darkness.
An opportunistic wide-eyed hungry marauder, a whooting then whooting inquisitor, appears to be a very white speckled owl, curiously announced its presence in the moons revealing beam; the timid unaware skittering being, that singular tiny humble mouse, was blamelessly exposed to unknown perilous risk. Metallic talons pouncing from the lighted pitch above, protruding picky beak disemboweled it’s delicate choice, minute tufts of bloodied fur were all that remain of that simple true innocence.
That smooth versatile soft-footed and white-streaked bandit of the dark estate, handsome in his pompous formal black dress suit; a sneaky selfish pilferer of the peoples larder, would steal anything sorely needed, or just simply glossy; and when caught with his paw in the corntill, would indignantly spread offensive stink amongst anyone present.
A stealthy mit’y coyote, confirmed each and every precipice, overlooking his territorial limits; sniffing the air currents, then the ground, for any and all emitted encroachment; a dominant posing silhouette, his only detection, in the moons still or just absent glow; there for a fleeting moment, gone in the wisp of an instant.
Gnarled thick limbs and diseased snags over the winding trail; belying patient tawny panther, appears the same, as the tolerant bristle cone’s branches. Lightning strikes threaten the higher rise.
By, the slightest physical or particular unclear tremor, the audible snap of a dry twig, the unfamiliar foul breath in the breeze, the least second shadow, or a hiss…; with every trivial nuance duly noted, a tender deer must be quiet and hidden, from the many corrupted messengers of chaos and doom. Announcing barks and natural opinions must be kept to the breast; for a coiled venomous rattlesnake is seldom firstly seen, but lastly heard notorious, before the stricken fangs of perverted poison has been set.
The insignificantly spilled entire portentous remains of the courageous brave, the steadfast and pure, handsome righteous man, specific scattered inflorescent remnants, of what could be found, on any malicious rabid Beasts’ killing field. Those bits and detached found portions were carefully collected with reverence, gathered by his simple faithful brothers, and kindly transported back to the safe womb of the ensconced beautiful valley; then assembled in that sacred burning place, to be honorably dispatched to the misty ethereal land of the benevolent Spirits; and the bones pulverized and set apart for consumption; all matter, dust to dust.
Wispy spiraling transitory smoke, to rise softly in the clear undefiled air, is the wandering whispered farewell, to/of his remaining ash or graceful spirit; both concepts joined the all-encompassing cosmos.
Dacoh’s’ heroic song of life; the bold selfless surrender in his death; and the nurturing story of his adventurous passage to the land of the other River People, for the gratuitous benefit to His people; was earnestly related to the attent young initiates by the firelight, with pledged veneration and remembered devotion.
Rising sparks in the moral void, scintillating chants of worthy praise, repeatedly expressed beside the circled timeless campfires, in the flickering and twinkling of the illuminated night; some uncle bending to touch the brow of a child, bolstering and approving the virtue and the strengthened courage of their people; for the repeated stories of the well-worn paths traversed, told by all sensible men, are the truth as we know it.
Harvests from convenient contrived hatred, or the excessive yields of greed and self-indulgence, or those abundant weeds of fear, would follow the army of deceitful crusaders; fine gold to false expectations, wasted fuel to toxic fumes, good fertile soil to sinful foul disease, ample food to unmanaged famine, kindly counsel to forced conversion, quiet patient tolerance to turn vainglorious, benevolent conditional freedom to smiling paternal benevolent slavery, glad colorful life to bent withered grey death. For man to presume too much and lose his true essence.
Organized arbitrary violence or meaningless sacrifice or waste, for any reason, were abhorrent to the well-bred nature of the Forgotten Ones; but individual sacrifice for the survival of your family was the greatest of gifts, never to be disparaged, or mentioned without a song of praise; “As Dacoh would have done”.
To the clouds beyond…, or within the grains of sand…, or the mountains high…, the Good Spirits will watch over you.
The wide-eyed innocent Bahcooh, young son of the courageous Dacoh, chin cupped in his hands, sat before his adoring mentor, the wise modest Story Teller of The Forgotten Ones, intently listening to his every word, both the good and the bad. His lower left hand to hold sway over the people and his right hand to understand their needs. The youthful Bahcooh would grow into a man beside this caring adoptive uncle, knowing his brave world was surely measured, not by the absent unspoken word, but by what you will do, not by what you say.
Stepped winding rock-strewn very long trail, to climb the highest Mountains, possibility of imbalance from loose and rolling stones, hostile storms of flashing light and then loud discordant thunder, pointed broken snags and diseased useless single culls, endangers the rising pathway to magnificence. Persuaded naive children round the bitter twists and unseen turns; look into any stone tablet or specific symbol, to constant masterful nurturing of the singing and beautiful little seasonal flowers; promises of cool placid deep blue lakes, to easily flowing clear and clean streams, or a flat soft green meadow, to reach peace and flourish, so to bend their thankful heads. To experience the perfect Sunrise and sunset that has never been seen. When all is gone, they will be there.
“Come, I can see it!”.
“Oouna Yallah, Oouna Allyah, chai ta kay, see daay me nah…; ookla kwantay, geeswah untah, may de sah…; neechee bah laka, Aadai… ahnna cooh tah…; aiee dee coh too, beeechum do kee, eeedoh seettah…”
“So say I, Hoocoh-Ah, lame Story Teller of the People, regretfully known as The Forgotten Ones; speaks to you”.
The Storyteller
