about a doe

a doe~the symbol of the heart itself. messenger of grace and balance. aware, sensitive, full of inspiration. achieves goals through method and not force. eyes radiate purity and innocence. runs swiftly. changes direction often. takes an angular path. dreamy eyes, restless wandering and swift flight. said to die for pure sound - anahata nada. guides in the process of transformation - a white doe will guide you to your realm, in the spiritual sense.



hunted~i live a restless chase. a silver-hearted doe - timid & sensitive creature . i fear brash noises. i see light that others miss. i seek the serenity of solitude. i run toward the light. and away from it. i spend my days and nights prancing among the trees in the forest of dreams. or languishing in the lush thicket, nestled deep in the bowels of the forest of hope. my nemesis, red coyote - frequently makes chase. at times, i play the hunted. at times, the hunter. today, the red coyote hunts me.

and i grow weary of the chase. red coyote. he’s emerged from himself, once more. the game’s afoot. and so, i run. i do not want to run. my survival instinct says i must. i run. and the urgency of survival presses the breath from my lungs at an alarming rate. and i run. and the desperation of the hunt descends. and i run. and the desperation settles, in the same way a sharp twig or stone settles between my toes.

i run. i must outwit red coyote. my legs grow weary. desperation presses against my soul, which feels limp and deflated. i press through thicket and grassy knolls, in escape of red coyote. branches whip against my slender graceful legs, and on more than one occasion, a twig pierces my skin. wounded. weary. and yet i give chase. pride fuels me at this point - i will not relent. and so i run. the game’s afoot. the chase, engaged. red coyote, on the hunt.

i, hunted.



red coyote, provides himself a most formidable foe. relentless - in his hunt for hind. relentless. and i grow weary. fatigue settles upon me, like sticky wet snowflakes and despair beckons.

as i waiver, i feel tendrils of red coyote’s breath stroke my leg.

a wave of frozen warmth surges inside me. i feel red coyote’s sharp teeth pierce the tender skin of my leg. a cell of energy explodes inside me and i flutter away on the wind. i escape. and, it seems … red coyote retreats.

i hunted … i wounded. i know the hunt has not finished. the red coyote lives tonight. i know not why he retreats. nor when he will return. just that he will. and the silver-hearted doe must ready herself. for what lies ahead.

i hunted. will this chase never end?

a wise voice~written in the third person, just because~the doe grew weary and felt weak of spirit and body. her wounded leg throbbed with fatigue.

she wondered, silently, ‘perhaps i will not win this chase?’

at that moment, she felt a tendril of pleasant warmth stroke her leg. and she felt a voice. yes, felt. the words registered on a more visceral level than just auditory. the voice. calm. it spoke to her heart.

it said, ‘my little doe. if only you would stop running. red coyote will disappear. and the chase will dissolve. stop running. embrace the light.’

puzzled, the doe vaguely noticed that she felt revived. that her leg no longer throbbed. she, of course, could not see that her wound began to heal. and that the light of which the voice spoke lived inside her.

she pondered. a wise and gentle voice that sailed into her heart on the march spring breeze. if she stopped running, then what? whatever does one do, but run? the doe pondered a wise voice. and the elusive light.