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.

enigmatic? the human psyche

[~inspired by an email i wrote recently to a dear friend, currently suffering @ the hands of that dark shadows that crosses spirits - depression~]

... about the beast within ...

each of us resides in special, certain part of ourselves ... some of us live in our heads ... some, live in our guts ... and so, those of us that have this beast .... share that space with said beast. as for 'subtle genetic make-up that adversely affects behaviour/personality ...' i do think that we - i.e. our current human society/species - have little or no understanding of the human psyche ... society speaks of psychiatric imbalance as purely a physiologic phenomenon. i, however, (having had lifelong exposure to said psychiatric imbalance) choose to see it less definitively. i see it also as a spiritual phenomenon ... those of us frail of psyche, prone to channelling the despairs that surround us, etc ... i think we have special sensing capabilities that other humans do not yet recognize ... call me crazy if you like ... but i cannot view any psychiatric illness entirely devoid of considering one's spirit ... one's soul.

i believe environmental manipulation - i.e. engaging in some spiritual ritual (in the case of johnny cash, this would mean appealing to his god in prayer, etc etc) - has proven helpful for some. and perhaps this reinforces my view of psychiatric imbalance as having partially spiritual origins. ... can the spirit/soul and the channels that it finds itself 'surfing' - can such activity manifest itself in brain chemistry activity? no doubt - i believe that's how our primitive medical community attempts to understand the psyche.

i see illicit drug use as intimately intertwined with this phenomenon - as in so many, many humans see and feel the need to self medicate. everyone does, somehow - through pursuit of power ... trifling, shiny and completely unnecessary material goods ... speed ... or just plain old trying to get as 'high' (i.e. 'stoned') as possible - comfortably numb, as the band Pink Floyd called it. we all have heard of that movie The Matrix. i believe its a wonderful, gothic-ly surreal (in a modern way) metaphoric interpretation of humanity and perception. in particular the choice Neo must make to take the blue pill or the red pill. does this not constitute the choice one's spirit makes regarding perception of one's world? one's truth?

... about the concept we call masochism ....
and ... that nebulous concept called 'balance,' or sanity ...

i wonder about myself sometimes. in a subtle way, though. like ... in the times when the shadow of darkness falls upon my spirit ... the feeling of despair reminds me i feel anything at all. and sometimes the purging sensation that courses through my very wise blood feels oh-so-much sweeter than does that often numbing sensation of 'happiness.' does that constitute masochism? or ... could one man's sorrow become another man's joy? and who decides ....? how can anyone determine whether any of us have psychiatric balance ...? considering our Selves all reside @ different calibration points (and in different parts of our own biologic microcosm) - what makes one one individual, with several years of university, qualified to judge something so raw ... so mystical ... so enigmatic? just thinking out loud, here.

martin has old, old scars along his arms from his youth/early adulthood - when he used to press the glowing tip of the cigarette against his skin ... just to feel something. masochistic, perhaps? to appeal to physical pain in order to dull that gnawing, aching, searing wound that makes one's spirit throb? i have had analogous experiences ... albeit with food/appetite ... in times of deepest depression ... it strangely, sickly lifts my spirit ... to feel the physical sensation of hunger. it gives my Self a physical focus ... draws it away from that which lies inside. does this constitute masochism? who's to judge?