A Guest Blog by Virs Rana
For a
long while, I felt this was a story that could not be told, because I could
make little sense of what really happened. To me, the experience was…and I
hesitate here because I'm not sure how to use this word, ‘miraculous’, that is
to say, outside the normal occurrence. But as we are frequently informed, there
are inexplicable events every day in all areas of peoples’ lives.
Still,
I found it difficult, as if I was protecting something special that would be
diminished in the telling. And then,
there was my ego trying to convince me I had achieved a certain purity of
heart, or mind, or spirit. But I had not. I was ignorant, self-serving, even
dishonest in my behavior. So why me? Later, I found the answer to that
question, and as the saying goes, 'It’s all in the timing', and the opportunity
has now graciously been given to me…
It
was a clear blue-sky day, mid-morning in the fall, the air still crisp from the
cooling night. The jutting mountains, with their embowering pines and aspens,
provided a comforting seclusion from the outside world. I had driven up the
narrow dirt road near the building site, a plateau of trees and flora turning
to reds and golds among the evergreens. I had to hike the last quarter of a
mile on foot. I grabbed my daypack out of the bed of the pickup truck and began
to scale the circuitous path. I breathed
deeply, as you can only do at the higher altitudes, and the infused fragrance
carried by the morning dew filled my body and thoughts with promise. As I got
about a third of the way up, I stopped…cold…
It
was unusually silent. Birds were not fluttering from tree to tree. Their
chirping had ceased. The chatter of chipmunks was absent. I looked up. There
were no hawks circling overhead. Then I heard it, in the distance, the echoing
crack of a high-powered rifle. Of course, hunting season had just begun. The
pristine ether of the forest would frequently be shattered for the next few
weeks.
It's
interesting how, to some, that blustering 'civilized' sound is a clarion call,
and, to others, like myself, it is a violent intrusion. The gun argument aside,
I have no problem with humans hunting and foraging for their food. It's the
sport aspect, the antler trophies, that bothers me. But I dismissed these
thoughts, remembering that we come to our 'senses' in good time, or so I
believed.
I
continued up the path, which coiled around the plateau, and I remembered what
the local *American Indian realtor who had sold me the site had said,
"Listen to the land. It will tell you where to make your house." I
had heard this before, but didn't put much value in it. But I tried, camped out
on the land, became familiar with its wildlife, and finally picked the spot
with the best view.
Reaching
the top, I threaded my way through the pines and aspens to the southern edge
that looked out over the lush meadow that skirted the plateau. I saw that the
creek snaking across the property was being dammed by a family of beavers, and
a large pond was beginning to form. New neighbors, why not, I thought.
Kaboom!
Again, unfurling from another direction…I turned toward the sound and gazed
into the foliage across the plateau. The red, orange, and green palette seemed
to shudder…Or was it me…No, something had moved, something big. I slowly and
quietly drifted through the trees and into the dense thicket, and froze. It
could be a camper or a hunter passing through, I guessed. Then I saw them, the
pointed tips of a large pair of antlers floating atop the burnished leaves of
brush. Surely, he had caught my scent…
Thus
it began, the deliberate and cautious strategy of human and wild animal
'feeling' each other across the great divide of noise and silence, cacophony
and symphony…I moved…It moved…We moved in unison, a dance around the
recognition of other life. Catching glimpses of colors, shapes, seeing more,
and less, quickened by some revived connection… I lost all track of time, but
it seemed like this play was inherently choreographed, an ancient ritual with
roots in a new and vital earth.
Moving
on pure instinct, I eventually found myself in a small clearing, I stopped,
feverish, yet surprisingly calm. My thinking returned, and I thought, perhaps,
this wild animal might finally show itself, a curiously improbable notion.
Suddenly
I felt it, a presence I'd never experienced before, a strange energy pulsing,
surrounding me, entering me…I breathed in a different world, comforting,
sustaining, vibrant…Yet not different, familiar, like living the dream that set
you free. I slowly turned to my right and saw it, a most magnificent elk arcing
into the clearing, no more than thirty feet away. Part of me was stunned, and
the other part said, 'This is the way'…I watched as this regal animal stepped
definitively, purposefully, until it stood directly across from me in full
profile. I could see the details of its tawny thick coat and the dark brown
swath highlighting its broad chest. He turned his head toward me, and large
elliptical eyes captured me, told me a story I could not put into words. Then
he dipped his head slightly, like a bow, or greeting, and turned back so he
could watch both his flanks.
The
only thing that crossed my mind, at this point, was how to respond. Stand
motionless, just observing? Try getting closer? Closer? No, he had defined the
space. Just observe? No, it was my turn…so I spoke. "Hey, you're an
awesome animal…I appreciate your trust and your greeting…I guess you know
they're after you…" Not exactly profound or poetic, I know.
He
exhaled a snort and stomped at the ground with his left front hoof, three
times. I waited, struggling; what could it mean… About thirty seconds passed,
no time, no thinking, just being together; my turn again. "Be careful when
you go to water," I said, "Take care."
Then
this mysterious, extraordinary animal casually stepped into the brush a few
yards off the clearing, and was gone. I didn't hear anything and raced toward
his exit point to see if I could spot him running into the meadow toward the
creek. Nothing…another gunshot echoed in the distance.
I
started to come down, or back to reality, as I knew it. What just happened? Why
didn't this hunted elk bolt when he first picked up my scent or heard me on the
plateau? He did not appear to be wounded or disoriented in any way. As I said
previously, I was, and still am not a man of the wild, or some enlightened
being. The stories of Francis of Assisi come to mind. Yes, accidental and
surprise confrontations in the wild happen every day, but this was more than
accidental. This transcended every wild animal to human relationship I had ever
heard of.
Finally,
I dismissed it as something I had inflated beyond the coincidental. But it
would not lie. It even came up in my dreams. So I told a good friend, as best I
could, and she said it was a special gift.
"From
whom or what?" I asked.
"That's
for you to decide," she replied.
"You
mean like God, or the Universe thing?"
"Have
you ever heard of that happening before?"
She
had me. I thought for a second, then said, "No."
"Maybe
you need to listen to the elk," and she walked away.
*Many
'American Indian' friends told me that's what they preferred to be called, rather
than Native Americans, as anyone born in the U.S. can be 'native'.
Virs
Rana 2013
