Voice

Happy Birthday America. Happy Full Moon. Happy Lunar Eclipse.

The Native American tradition of observing seasonal shifts by giving nicknames to the full moon, makes this one a Buck Moon, named for the emerging new antlers on young male deer. In our small forest, a young buck (with budding antlers) has been visiting me every evening as I sit outside with the equines. Beneath a dusky golden sky he pogo-hops into the glen, settles in his grass nest and stares at me with wide-eyed fascination. We are curious with each other and I practice my burgeoning inter-species communication with him.

His almond-shaped, liquid-brown eyes pulse me a wealth of sage information. This beautiful young buck is prey. His delicate limbs, seemingly filled with buoyant air, allow swift retreat at the slightest sense of danger. But, he is a tough cookie and I sense no fear.  Asking him about this lack of fear, he responds that our human word fear is not embedded in deer language. Rather, they subscribe to a “neutral place of reality” where fear is transformed into the instinctual ability to respond without faffing about and being eaten. If one stays in this Sweet Spot of neutral reality, survival is exponentially enhanced. He emphasizes not only physical survival but mental, emotional and spiritual survival. I soak in every nuanced wave of his pulsing wisdom.

Young Buck continues,
-In this Sweet Spot; terror sharpens keen wit, uninspired energy becomes calm focus,inconvenience fosters opportunity.
*Italicized words (above) are human words, not known to deer. He has given me poetic license to interpret the best I am able.

Young Buck and I are zoologically different, but he is teaching me about myself. He vibes,
-Know yourself. Exercise choice. Trust your heart. Stay in your lane. You drive one of those car-things, don’t you? Do you understand metaphor?

He is a bit of a smart-ass but I owe him the gratitude of my heart. He cares not what I speak, but watches my actions and senses my heart essence.

My equine brothers watch me watching Young Buck.

Chief approves of my new liaison and I see his eyes full of luminous pride.
-Yo, sister, you’re coming along nicely! Human words can be misinterpreted and are often false; your actions in congruence with your heart are the real deal.

Geronimo backs up his rump to me.
-Young Buck is my brother, but he is over yonder. Scratch me. I’m here, now.

Traveler vibes in timeless expansiveness.
-Voice. It doesn’t take a larynx to speak, does it? Talking heads are…talking heads. But Young Buck is in divine flow.