Page 142 - Dark Matter:Women Witnessing Issue2

marveled that a being so severely injured could still thrive, and felt as if the Elder trees were watching

over her. I felt broken too, felt that all of us humans here were deeply wounded in our hearts and

minds. The spirits were watching over us, it seemed to me, and were our elders. Perhaps we too could

still thrive with proper tutelage.

An old man and his dog arrived briefly, and we chatted. He asked if I would be camping here, and I

evasively answered I had not decided yet. I did not trust men in the wild, particularly not men who

would know I was alone here in the shadowy night that was fast approaching. But he seemed kind

enough, and I did not feel in danger. I asked if there were any bear troubles up here, and he said he

had never encountered one on the mountaintop, and that he did this hike three times a week. I had

traveled through a long series of switchbacks as I climbed the seven-­‐mile trail but he told me there was

a two-­‐mile path he used that went pretty much straight up and down, and only took two hours. He

confessed he had met with mountain lions on a few occasions, but they had never threatened him, just

followed him with what he felt was curiosity more than predatory intentions. I felt my heart stall a bit

at this information, imagining myself stalked by lions. I quickly tuned back into the lovingness that was

still there floating around me, and my anxiety eased. The man waved goodbye and hiked briskly back

down the mountain. A part of me wished I was going down too, before the light ended, down the

straighter, easier path, not alone, and not having to spend a solitary night in hours of darkness with no

tent. But I stayed, committed to the feeling in my body that said I belonged here now, whatever might

come.

I created my medicine wheel out of a few small grey stones, made tobacco offerings, then set up my

blue sleeping bag in a circle of small sage plants. I watched the sun pull the light off the lake, and the

shadows drop into everything. I offered four rounds of prayer, one each half hour, as guided by my

spirit council. A vast silence seemed to hold everything in expectation, and I settled into the long quiet

that I have come to love on quests. After an hour or so, the spirits encouraged me to rest, as there

would be work to do later. I slept briefly, dreaming that I was explaining to one of my students that

when a deer comes in a dream we must observe the deer’s behavior so we will know what message it

brings. Suddenly the sound of drums awakened me, an ancient Native American four-­‐beat rhythm. Had

Native people arrived below in the campground at the base of the mountain, or perhaps someone who

knew this powwow rhythm? I was deeply moved that drummers were here now, felt the hunger within