Wind Spirit: SSMatthews

“It is said that if a man sits on the-rock-between-worlds, the Spirit of Wind will come to play for him. It is a magic flute. The music cannot be heard by all, but has secrets to reveal.”

“Have you heard this music yourself?”

“When I was a boy of thirteen summers, I became lost while following the track of an elk. Wise, swift and strong he led me far from the people’s land into the canyon of shadows. The elk, who was really a bear in disguise, took his turn at being the hunter. I ran from him, up to the ridge where I came to a bridge of stone. I knew across the river lay the hunting grounds of the Paiute, but the stone bridge was too narrow for the bear. I walked halfway across, to sit and wait. When night came the bear fell asleep, but I was too afraid to come down. When the moon rose, the Spirit of Wind came to chase the bear away, but blew too hard for me to leave. I thought the spirit wanted to kill me himself, but instead he joined the shadows of the canyon and began to play his flute. The music was sweet, but very mournful. I listened to him until dawn. After that I knew I was to be a man of strong medicine.”

“Is your medicine still strong?”

“I’m old. My medicine is too. The world is letting us go because they have forgotten how to honor the Earth and its knowledge. It is sad that we do not teach our children these things.”

“When you say the world is forgetting, what do you mean?”

“When we forget we are all these things, our spirit becomes lost. When a river flows no more, it becomes stagnant. Only creatures without heart can thrive in stagnant waters.”

“I believe my spirit wants me to find this bridge. Do you think it is still there?”

“The rock-between-worlds is never there, but always there. To find it, you must build it. You must let go of your civilized ideas and become like the spirit of wolf, then the bridge will find you.”

“How can I do this?”

“Go to the canyon of shadows. If your heart is whole, it will tell you how.”

I had more questions, but the ancient man seemed to have fallen asleep. I left him in the rocker on his porch surrounded by the symbols of his life. And I wondered, did Shadow Canyon actually exit as a physical place, or was it a creation of his imagination, remembered long after and distorted by years?

Inquiring further turned up nothing worthwhile. The younger members I talked with all thought the old man was crazy and that I was to for listening to anything he said.

Still, I wasn’t so easily swayed. If to find the bridge, I had to build it, then that’s what I’d do.

Words: 490

Author Bio:

Scott Matthews writes from central Fl. at- Author of A Byzantine Werewolf, he also composes poetry and is currently working on a life experiences novel titled The Witch and the Mystic.

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