I have to write, in my own words, everything that happened during, and after, the hip surgeries I had in January and May of last year, 2015. So I thought I would do it here and make it public from the beginning. I will do separate posts about other things I want to write about, but I will alongside write the story of at least one unethical doctor, a very weird pain clinic, one batshit crazy attorney, and me. And pain. Lots and lots of pain.
Also, I need to get this written as quickly as possible, so I won’t be waiting for the New Moon and will begin immediately.
I intend to, and will, begin writing here again on the upcoming New Moon, which should be around March 8th, but I’ll have to check on that. Looking forward to blogging again!
Top of Blacktail Mountain, Photo by Pamela Breedlove House
This is a recent photo taken at the top of Blacktail Mountain. You can see the heavy cloud cover, an inversion, which will sometimes blanket the whole valley for days, weeks even, like it did here. It was good to be at the top of the mountain where the sun was shining and everything was white and pristine.
The friend that took the photo, Pam House, came to visit with her sister Debbie and we had a great time playing in the snow and getting above the inversion, which we did the next day at Big Mountain, a ski resort a few miles north of Blacktail.
I still haven’t finished the hunting story, the ending needs to be tweaked.
Long live the grizzly bear.
Yellowstone sunset - photo by Pamela Breedlove House
Wolf Moon by Mary Oliver
Now is the season
of hungry mice,
hunkering with their lamp-eyes
in the leafless lanes
in the needled dark;
now is the season
when the kittle fox
comes to town
in the blue valley
of early morning;
now is the season
of iron rivers,
in their tents of weeds,
their music spent
and blown like smoke
to the stone of the sky;
now is the season
of the hunter Death;
with his belt of knives,
his black snowshoes,
he means to cleanse
the earth of fat;
his gray shadows
are our and running – under
the moon, the pines,
down snow-filled trails they carry
the red whips of their music,
their footfalls quick as hammers,
from cabin to cabin,
from bed to bed,
from dearmer to dreamer.
Last night’s sunset.
I’m putting the fnal touches on the hunting story and my goal is to have it finished by the end of the week. In the meantime, I thought I would post this picture; I know it looks dark, but it was getting dark and that’s just what it looked like so I decided not to alter it any.
I love it when the mountains go all pink like that.
There’s still no snow in the valleys and the weather has been unusually warm for this time of year. Dad came out to visit and he, Brent and I hunted for a couple of days. Mostly what we did was soak up the good forest energy and enjoy hanging out together. I feel like I’ve hardly taken a breath since returning from Georgia, but things will be slowing down soon and I intend to spend more time at the computer, being inspired by your blogs and attempting to put my own experiences into words that make sense.
The past two weeks have been an emotional rollercoaster, but one I wouldn’t trade for anything. The dips, turns, flips and flops seemed strangely orchestrated by a universe insistent on change – a universe that actually wanted me, personally, to change, now. Synchronicities abound and possibilities don’t seem endless, they seem doable. A few of them seem actually doable.
Killing that deer seemed to open up a window of opportunity that was there all along, but the glass was dirty and it was hard to see. It’s hard to say how profoundly it has affected me. I’m working on it, though. I’m working on how to say it. If I had to sum up the whole thing so far in a couple of words, they would be: spiritual turning.
I returned from Georgia on Monday evening and here is what I did Tuesday morning. I think I may be the most reluctant hunter on the planet, but it was a thrilling, emotional and very spiritual experience for me. This deer will see me through the next year, providing sustenance not just on my plate, but in my soul. I had been preparing for this, but I don’t think I was actually sure I would go through with it until I did. This buck presented himself in such a way that it would have been a sin for me to not take the shot. I charged the antlers under the full moon last night, offering matter back to spirit with a sincere prayer of thankfulness for her abundance.
Brent was a big hit in Georgia and I’m beginning to think I may be walking beside this cowboy for a long time to come. Here’s a picture of he and my dad in Georgia, my two hunting teachers, my lover and my father, friends.