CAN O’ PEAS

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The Burden of Sameness

Why is ‘sameness’ a burden? What do ‘peas’ have to do with that? Have you never heard the old saw “…like two peas in a pod”? Vegetable canners pick their products for their ‘sameness’. In any can of peas, there is very little variation in the size, color, ripeness of the little green orbs. Pretty much any canned vegetable or fruit suffers from that sameness—unless it is a bargain brand that uses the odd, the rejects of the eagle eye of sameness.

Where else do we have to endure sameness? Architecture for one. Bring up photos of most metropolis’ in this country (and elsewhere) and count the number of tall, square, glass walled buildings that dot their skylines. There are exceptions, few and rare. While we are on the subject of architecture, I have been struck by the sameness in residential buildings as well. Single family homes and multifamily condo’s and apartments stand out only because they follow a pattern of sameness. I am including the link https://www.google.com/search?q=little+houses+on+the+hillside&client=firefox-b-1-e&ei=y7qVZJSvFJPw9APZ_Y2oAQ&gs_ssp=eJzj4tFP1zcsNM2qSi6uKjJg9JLNySwpyUlVyMgvLU4tVsjPUyjJAPIyc3KKM1NSAWLpEAI&oq=little+houses+on&gs_lcp=Cgxnd3Mtd2l6LXNlcnAQARgDMgUIABCABDIFCAAQgAQyBQgAEIAEMgUILhCABDIICC4QgAQQ1AIyCAguEIAEENQCMgUIABCABDIFCAAQgAQyBQgAEIAEMgUIABCABDITCC4QgAQQlwUQ3AQQ3gQQ4AQYAToECAAQRzoHCAAQigUQQzoLCC4QgAQQxwEQrwFKBAhBGABQ0ixY0TJgv2VoAHACeACAAXmIAcUCkgEDMC4zmAEAoAEBwAEByAEI2gEGCAEQARgU&sclient=gws-wiz-serp#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:ea702aac,vid:w_xH7FI1L9Q to a song written by Malvina Reynolds, used by the producers of the television series “Weeds”. Her words struck a note that has been in the back of my mind since childhood. I am different, yet, the same. Who says we have to color a mass produced template using the same color crayons as everyone else? Why do we have to use the pre-printed lines as our guide? Where is the room for our creativity and individuality?

Now, I am not as much a rebel as I want(ed) to be. In my youth, I dressed like most others of my generation; and I cut my hair like the ‘Beatles’ much to the dismay of the barber on the military installation where I grew up (and my parents too). I aimed for a ‘normal’ and ‘expected’ career path—for a while, but then…

The lyrics to Little Houses on the Hillside talk about the sameness in professions like medicine, law, business, etc. Spewed out of universities that are all full of boxes filled with people trying to be the same. In most, if not all, executive suites across the world are filled with, gray, charcoal, black (and rarely Navy) suits—male and female. God forbid a senior executive wear a tan suit. Red ties, Harvard stripes, etc. are badges of sameness.

Is there anything wrong with ‘sameness’? Repetition is sometimes the right thing to do. Manufacturing is one area where it makes sense…products made of the same components on an assembly line make it possible for everyone to afford them—or repair them. In construction, building to set blueprint cuts the cost of materials by factor of scale, and allows builders to use the same procedures for each unit they construct. In the military, it is wise for everyone to dress the same, follow the same regulations and use the same weapons.

But, and it is a big but—individuality leads to a happier people, innovation, less stress—individuality need not lead to chaos, not that chaos is a bad thing either. Where is the happy medium? Could it be the red entry door in a sea of white ones a good sign or tennis shoes beneath a wedding dress, or a pink shirt in the boardroom? I can’t say. Tattoo’s were once a symbol of individualism, they have become a part of the sameness of our culture. So is pristine skin the symbol of rebellion now?

I just think of the ‘Can  O’ Peas’…don’t be lumped into the can with everyone else.

Just be yourself!

TIME WAS…

Time was life was simple, innocent and less hurried. Some say it was the “good old days” without really thinking about what they were like. Some say there was nothing good about the old days and then they proceed to list all of the things that weren’t so good after all. Remember when there were outbreaks of infectious diseases like polio, measles, tuberculosis, Spanish Flu and the like? A good portion of the 20^th century was laden with two world wars, smaller regional military actions, Korea and Viet Nam. The Great Depression, numerous financial crisis, the boom and bust cycle that is our economic model brought us the tech bubble burst, the ups and downs in the oil patch, and the perennial rise and fall of the mining industry.

Time was there were several good things too. People interacted face to face rather than through impersonal digital communication. Some families actually sat down to dinner together and hopefully talked about something other than memes and on line bullying. The train system in this country was extensive and you could actually book a trip to any small town that happened to be on the rail line. St. John station is a perfect example of that, sitting as it were in the middle of nowhere in Utah where ranches and small farms dotted the landscape. Now one cannot even get a regular flight to some of the places in middle America—it isn’t called fly-over country for nothing. Most small towns and cities had at least one doctor that would come to your house to treat your illnesses and injuries. Sometimes they were paid in livestock or other commodities. Now, they just stuff you in an ambulance and rush to the nearest ER and leave you with a massive financial obligation.

Time was the good guys always won and the bad guys faced the consequences. It was a time when any kid could hunt and gather empty soda or beer bottles and turn them in for nominal deposit fee. It was enough to buy a sack  (small) of penny candy or go to the Saturday afternoon movie matinee and have enough left over after buying a ticket to get a bag of popcorn, a soda pop, and maybe a Hershey chocolate bar. In many households there was some kind of radio that received stations that played popular music, news of the day, radio plays, sports games that the family could gather round and hear together. If the atmospherics were right a family in Kansas could hear stations in New York City or Los Angeles on the AM band and maybe from England, Europe or South America on the short wave stations. In my youth, we could listen to Wolf Man Jack at night, broadcasting on AM with 50,000+ watts from Cuidad Acuna, Mexico, just over the river from Del Rio Texas. Many a teenager, myself included would lay in bed with a “transistor” radio with an earbud plugged in so that the parents didn’t shut you down. Now if you want to listen to radio stations out of your local area you have to have an internet connection to hook up to their live stream.

Sometimes I wonder if the phrase “time was…” is used as an excuse to ignore the present or deal with “modern” life. It is an easy cop-out when faced with the news of the day, or the insane intrusion of constant troubling news, or the consequences of the pervasive consumer society we live in…But truthfully, it is often soothing to reflect on the “Time was…”

Life Lesson in an Elevator

DEREK/11 MAY 1996

We went to see Uncle Arnie, today

in the hospital where painfully he lay,

after the surgery that will save his life, we’re told;

so that he can re-retire and grow truly old.

I was tearful to see his grimace, and

hold that violating hurt within my hand,

the one he used to lead me, to discover

what is more complex today than ever.

He spoke of life, fame, as well as, fortune,

the wheel of the universe, the sun, stars and moon

tweaked so subtly, by our GOD, the most powerful one,

and we left him to his, our visit done.

In the elevator box waiting…to descend

to solid ground, we all bid his agony to end,

in our minds, at least, without ever saying aloud,

what we all were thinking–what is life about?

All but Derek, how practical, this child

pointing out to us the fact so mild,

that “What goes up, must come down”, our elevator

we thought, but now I see much…clearer.

                                                                                    Michael D. LeFevre

Copyright 1996

A Talking Coyote? He’s a Dreamwalker too.

 

Two coyotes, sat outside of the cave, tongues lolling, watching him.The larger of the two spoke, “Good morning Daol!” Are you truly named for a stinky black beetle?” Wow, who didn’t like you?”

Draiodh chuckled and raised his hand. “I did, that was what he looked like scampering about before he could walk like a human.”
The coyote said, “Walking on two legs is over-rated.” His companion yipped and did a back flip.
“You didn’t ask me what my name was…Bug.” The coyote drawled.

“…name’s Wiley and this is my brother.” Wiley stood looking at Daol, wary of another disgusting act. “We’ll see how over-rated two legs are at the end of the day.”

Story of the Week

DREAMSCAPE: THE END PART TWO

            I nodded and grunted in agreement. I put my head down and trudged on.

We came to another sudden stop and I nearly ran into the savage again. I stopped in time and raised my eyes to see what the interruption was. All I could see was Coimirceor’s back, so I stepped to the side. I gasped. We faced a long steep hillside that seemed to go on forever. I couldn’t see the top from where we stood.

“It looks like a pyramid” I offered.

“Can we go around?”

“Guys…”

Coimirceor began to sing. I couldn’t understand the words and there wasn’t any translation, but the rhythm was like a marching song.  He beckoned us forward with the spear and he began the long trek up the long slope.

I watched, but not for long, Intoit goosed me with his nose and Wiley growled out, “Let’s get going.”

I heaved a long sigh and began the ordeal.

We climbed and climbed, the slope became steeper the farther that we went. My heart pounded like an old steam engine, I wondered if the others could hear it, it beat so loud in my own ears. My breath roared in and out. I was just at the point where I was about to collapse, when Intoit and Wiley moved closer and put their heads beneath my hands.

“Hold onto our fur and we will help you.” Wiley said. I couldn’t say no, my breathing was too rapid to speak. We went on. For about another 50 yards. Then we topped the brow of the hill so suddenly I lost my footing and fell on my face. The coyotes used their noses under my arms to help me rise.

When I got to my feet and raised my face, the sight before me was so amazing, my mouth dropped open. My eyes widened to their maximum size, I am sure, for they were barely able to ‘see’ what stood before me.

The most beautiful tree that I have ever seen rose to the sky. It was covered with large leaves of every shape and every color imaginable. The tree stood in the exact center of the flat top of the hill and spread it’s limbs in a huge circle that shaded the largest part of the space. Birds flitted in and out of the limbs and spaces between the leaves, their song in perfect harmony with Coimirceor. Intoit and Wiley began to sing the coyote song and it harmonized as well. The sound swelled in volume, I tried to match it, but could not.

The song came to a sudden end, the silence was deafening after the crescendo. A sudden pain ripped my chest along the angry scar and a tearing cough forced its way past my lips.

Coimirceor turned to me, his hands flew in a blizzard of signs. “You have crossed the vale, I have met the expectations of the Voice. I hope we do not meet for many turns of the wheel of life yet to be. If we do, the trip across the vale may not be so easy. Try to learn some things before you come to this place again. It will make our job easier. Thank your brothers for their help before you leave us.” He spread his arms in a sign that had no translation, then he made a chopping motion with his spear hand. “Enough!”  With that he grasped the spear that he had leaned on his shoulder and raised it in to the air, a sudden “Ky-yi-Yippee-i-oooo” burst from his lips and he was off at a fast trot.

As I watched his form disappear over the edge of the hill, Wiley said, “Follow me”, and he led me across the hill top under the tree.

As we reached the other side and left the shade thrown by the huge tree, I asked the coyote, “What is this place?”

Wiley let the superior canine grin cross his face before he answered, “You don’t recognize it? You have been here before you know, only going the other way.”

“NO, I don’t recall being here.”

“This is the Tree of Life” Wiley said this with some seriousness and reverence.

Scared, I asked, “Have I died?”

“Not this time, if you had, you would be riding with the knights of the vale and that goofy Yellow Hair. Instead, you got to hang with the savage.” With this, Wiley burst into coyote laugh.

“What’s next?” I asked somewhat relieved.

“Follow me” and he led me over the edge of the hill. I slipped and started sliding down the grassy slope. Wiley and Intoit raced beside me as I gained speed. I slid forever, I gained so much speed that I began to leave the coyote’s behind. I saw that I was heading toward the edge of a drop off and I tried to slow down by spreading my arms and grabbing at the grass. It slipped through my fingers, the scared feeling  returned, I cried out.

“Don’t fight it, just let it happen…don’t fight it…”

I slipped over the edge and fell.

“Don’t fight it…”, and I hit the bottom in a flash of light. My eyes flew open, and slammed closed again when the bright light bored into my eyes. I opened them carefully to see an angel in my face, she was pulling a tube from my throat.

“Don’t fight it…cough…harder”.

A racking cough rumbled in my chest, it felt like hell, I couldn’t breath. Then pop, the tube was free, I coughed and gasped. My chest hurt.

I looked at the nurse, an angel in white, then glanced at three other angels standing around the room. They had tears in their eyes, I wondered why. The first one said, ”What do you think of this.” She pointed to my chest.  An angry red scar/cut marked my chest from throat to the bottom of my ribcage. It throbbed. I closed my eyes, the room faded for an instant. The fading echoes of a yipping coyote song teased my hearing.

Then Wiley’s face floated in front of me, grinning that damned canine grin. He barked like any other coyote but the yips translated into, “Do you understand now?”

I groaned, and opened my eyes. “How bad was it?” I croaked.

Just like that damned raven.

THE END

Story of the Week

DREAMSCAPE: THE END PART ONE

EPISODE #4

Wiley growled at me, “Are you ready to die…right now? Because you will you know, if you attract the raider’s attention. They don’t fool around!”

“NO, I’M NOT!” I shouted back at Wiley and gave a dirty look to the savage as well. “I AM JUST SICK … and tired of being confused. Today started out OK, but then it started to rain. And…and…”, I finished lamely. “And that savage cut me with his spearpoint!”

Coimircoer scowled at me and lifted the point of the spear in my direction, he shook it. The translation came across loud and clear, “You’re lucky I didn’t spit you like a chicken!”

Wearily I nodded. “OK”

Coimirceor peeked over the ridge, he stood and gave a thumbs up. I thought I knew what it meant without the translation, you know, “A-OK.” But no, the savage’s interpreted voice spoke, “The coast is clear.”

He smiled and resumed his march. Intoit rose out of the tall grass and followed, resuming his position on the left flank. The gargling croak of the raven rang out from above. Wiley turned and looked my way. I arose and shouldered my pack and moved out.

Wiley kept pace with me. He assumed that superior canine grin that was becoming irritating. We walked and walked. Intoit’s hackles raised when we crossed the track of the raider’s. To tell you the truth, my hackles raised too. The thought of iron-clad knights led by the Son of the Morning Star, the hero of the Little Big Horn, dead though he may be, frightened me to no end. Coimirceor snorted at me and Intoit. He didn’t look left nor right. He trudged on. What choice did the rest of us have? We followed.

Did I say that the rain continued? It did, if anything it rained harder if that was possible. The light was cut further and the clouds rolled and twisted. But our feet were dry, the rain didn’t spot my spectacles. We climbed and descended ridge after gully, over and over. Out of the blue, a sharp pain blasted me starting in the angry red scar and radiating outward until it met itself in my back. A dry hacking  cough  over took me and I bent at the waist, trying to catch my breath.

Coimirceor stopped and looked back at me, his hands flashed in a series of signs. “You ready? We have to get you to the other side before the bad guys know you’re here.”

Intoit snuck in behind me and goosed me with his nose. Then he growled.

“Yikes! What was that?” I said as I stood straight up. The raven gargled his laughing croak. “Shut up you stupid bird!” I let loose. Gasping for breath I started walking again and the savage turned and continued.

We trudged on for about a mile, when the light began to fade and the clouds got darker and darker. I was beat, it seemed that we had walked for days, not hours. Just as I was about to call for a rest, we left the brush and tree line,  into a wide open meadow. The grass was about waist high and the most impossible green I had ever seen. It drooped from the weight of the rain.

Coimirceor stopped. I wasn’t paying attention to him and ran right into his back. He grunted but didn’t move. The raven cawed in alarm and flew away, Intoit growled.

Wiley said, “What have we here?” I looked at him, he was looking beyond Coimirceor. I did too. My mouth dropped open.

The knights were arrayed shoulder to shoulder, blocking our way. Their lances were leveled at us. Sitting his athletic bay stallion, directly in front of us was the Custer look-alike. He was smiling ear to ear. So much for fooling  the bad guys. Coimirceor grunted in agreement but didn’t take his eyes away from the threat in front of us. He held his nasty spear in a ready, but threatening position.

He  barked out a string of gibb…er, words and shook the spear for emphasis. Not surprising, I didn’t understand a word of what he said.  And there was no translation either. The Custer look-alike sat there without responding to the tirade.

“I believe…HE (Custer pointed at me) will come with us.”

The savage shook his head, “NO, I am the guardian of the vale, the VOICE assigned me to watch over him as well. You may not have him.”

Coimirceor had spoken and I understood him! What the…what! “Why did we have to go through all of the sign language rig-a-ma- role?” I tugged on his rabbit skin cape. He ignored me.

The Son of the Morning Star barked out an order and the knights came to attention, raising their lances.  He barked another, they backed their horses ten steps. Custer backed his stallion almost to the line of his knights and reined him into a spin, right 360° then back the other way. When  the horse stopped, Custer pulled the reins back. The stallion rose on his hind legs in a picture perfect ‘Levade’ and held it for a ten count. Custer let him down, and walked the stallion forward until he was just out of reach of the deadly spear. He stopped, drew his saber and pointed it at me, ignoring Coimirceor, “YOU…you think you have escaped me, and I allow that you have this time, but I will have you in the end.” He spun the stallion, and spurred away. The knights turned as one unit, formed into columns and followed their leader.

I was dumbstruck. “What the HELL was that?” I asked.  Intoit was sniffing the tracks that were left from the raiders. He lifted his leg and squirted Custer’s track. Wiley watched with amusement, I could tell from his lolling-tongue grin.

Coimirceor turned to me, scowling he lifted the spearpoint so that it was pointing up. He let it lean on one shoulder and proceeded to explain in sign language. “They are the collectors of the vale.  Any one who tries to cross the vale are their prey.  Sometimes the VOICE assigns us to protect the travelers, sometimes we just take them to the raiders.  It’s your lucky day. We gotta ways to go yet, so pack up and let’ go.”

We walked for about another mile and the rain fell steadily, but it didn’t get any darker. I guess that it was dreary enough. We had been crossing the tall green grass flats and I was happy that the land was mostly level. I was beat. Wiley spoke up, “You have just a little ways to go and you will be across. The last bit will be the toughest, since you are so tired but, you can make it.”

Story of the Week

DREAMSCAPE

EPISODE #3

The Voice continued, “No further may ye go without thine guardian.  It would be too dangerous for thee. Coimirceoir has agreed to lead thee to the other side of the vale.” The savage stood and turned to face out of the cave. He lifted his arm, the one formerly holding the spear that pierced my chest, and made a sweeping  wave that took in the dismal scene. Although the view was mostly hidden by the falling rain, I got the sense of what that grand gesture encompassed.

“The vale.” The Voice pronounced.

The savage echoed the voice in the gib…uh, language of his fathers. He turned back and grinned humorlessly at me. He flashed a series of hand signs that magically transformed to words in my head.  “Pack your shit and let’s get going.”

I was startled and I guess it showed, because the savage threw back his head and laughed, long and loud. Then he moved his hands two more times. “Move it!”

I just looked at him.

Two more hand signs, “MOVE IT!! And he picked up the deadly spear and stepped out into the rain. I hurried to put my pack on and picked up my rifle and followed.

The rain parted around me as I followed the savage. Even though the ground was soggy and slick, our footing was solid. I wondered at the mystery. I didn’t know it then, but, there would be far greater mysteries to come. The first was a large black raven that appeared above us. I could hear the wind whistling through his wing feathers, louder when he flapped, softly as he glided between wing beats. The rain moved around it as well, the raven cawed twice. Then he croaked, it sounded like my buddy gargling whiskey at the bar on Friday nights. The raven then spoke to me, “You better keep up or Coimirceoir will stick you with his spear again.”

I looked up in surprise, my hand involuntarily went to the bright red scar on my chest. It throbbed. The raven laughed with that gargling croak that ravens use to taunt humans.  My feet picked up the pace, I didn’t want that spear to touch me again.

We walked, the rain fell, the gloom got darker and darker. Coimirceoir seemed more alert than he had been. Out of the misty rain, Wiley appeared and took up a guard position on our right side. He glanced at me and then beyond. I followed his gaze. Another coyote appeared out of the half light. Wiley nodded as he took up a similar guard position on our left.

I looked back at Wiley and commented, “Hey, I thought you were gone. What’s up?”

Wiley looked at Coimircoeoir, then replied, “He called me,” and indicating the other coyote, “and my brother, Intoit. We’re going with you across the vale, just in case.”

“Intoit,” I looked his way, he looked back with a toothy canine grin. “Just in case of what?”  I asked.

“Just in case of varmints” Wiley quipped back.

I patted the slung rifle on my back, “I’ve got this.”

Wiley shook his furry head and gave a sigh, “Won’t work here. I thought you understood.”

The raven laughed his raven laugh again.

Wiley barked, “Shut up you smartass bird. Who asked you anyway?”

Intoit just yipped.

Coimirceoir turned and scowled at all of them.  He hardly broke stride as he shook the spear at them and then with his free hand, put his pointer finger to is lips in the universal sign to be quiet.

I heard, “SHUT UP!” in my head. I nodded in agreement and trudged on.

Every 30 minutes or so, the rain would lessen, then renew it’s force. But it didn’t seem to matter; the rain didn’t touch any of us. It didn’t affect the ground that we walked on either. It wasn’t muddy or slick, it didn’t squish or stick to my shoes or the others feet. How could that be I wondered.

“All things are possible in thine own dreamscape. All things are possible here, as I have said before.” The Voice in my head answered my query. I nodded my head, “I know, I know. I should have remembered.” I was talking to the Voice in my head. “Is that a sign I am going insane?”  There was no answer to that question forthcoming. From the Voice anyway. The savage turned back and nodded, then grinned widely. Wiley and Intoit gave me the superior canine smile and the raven gargled long and loud.

I shook my head in confusion and trudged on.

We walked up and down the numberless ravines and small canyons that had been hidden from my viewpoint at the cave. Though the vale seemed to be flat, it was riven by these ravines that would have looked like well-wrinkled skin, if seen from the right perspective.

“You do know that this creation is pretty old, right?” Wiley turned to look at me to ask this question. His coyote face taking on an expectant expression. “Well…right?” he went on.

“You said ‘creation’; didn’t you mean ‘this accident of existence that has evolved from some quirky non-existent beginning’?” I replied to Wiley.

The superior canine smile returned to Wiley’s face. “RRRRIIIIIGGHHHTT! He said this sarcastically. The raven gargled long and loud.

“Then you really meant ‘creation’?” I was trying to keep up with Coimirceoir and reason out this new fact about this dreamscape at the same time. Intoit suddenly growled and raced by Coimirceoir to the top of the ridge in front of us.  When he reached the apex, he stopped and flattened himself into the tall grass. The savage stopped at once, he raised his hand like a traffic cop, and his ‘voice’ echoed back, “STOP!”

Wiley joined Intoit in the tall grass and the raven croaked in alarm and flapped frantically away to disappear into a thicket of evergreens. I followed Coimirceoir’s example and squatted so that my profile wouldn’t show above the waving grass on the ridgeline.

Wiley crept backward out of the grass and slinked down to us. He jerked his head back towards the ridgeline, “Raiders.” He said. “A bunch of them, too.”

Coimirceoir hissed in his language, his hands moving,  interpreting for me, “Follow me, crawl on your belly, go slow and whatever you do…keep your head down until I tell you to look.”

I nodded quickly. The savage crawled up the slope to the ridgeline. He moved like a serpent, a snake in the grass, barely moving the individual blades to mark his passage.  I am afraid to say that I wasn’t so competent. But when I reached the top and slid into place alongside Coimirceoir, he signaled to me to look across to a column of cavalry about a quarter mile away. They were trotting in a line, two by two, side by side, from right to left across our planned route.

At first, I thought that it was odd that they were in medieval armor.  Their horses were large; they had to be to carry that weight. The armor was a rusty brown, not shiny like the movies. They sort of blended in. All of the riders carried their lances upright, but a few of them had pennants waving gaily from the tips. Like I said, I thought this was odd. But then I realized that wasn’t the oddest thing. At the head of the double column, a mid-nineteenth century cavalry soldier rode an athletic bay stallion. The horse’s mane flew wildly as the horse tossed his head up and down, bobbing in a rhythm that only he knew. The soldier rode ramrod straight in the saddle, the fringe strings of his yellowish leather jacket tossing like the horse’s mane. His slouch hat covered longish yellow hair. The soldier never looked left nor right, but he guided his mount through the mounds of tall grass with ease.

I cursed under my breath, “My Hell, what is going on? Is that George Custer leading a column of knights?”

“Man, you are so whacked.” Wiley commented in my ear.

Coimirceor pointed his right index finger at the side of his head and described a circle; he crossed his eyes as well. “Yep, you’re whacked.” The interpretation of the savage’s sign echoed in my head at the same time.

“This has got to end!” I said this and made to stand and wave to the column. Coimirceor hissed angrily and grabbed the collar of my jacket and pulled me back down before the distant knights noticed me.

The big Voice in my head was also angry, “Has thee lost thy mind? Thou cannot mess with the time/space continuum here. The consequences would be monumental!”

Story of the Week

EPISODE #2 

            I watched as Wiley sauntered away into the gloom. He was there one moment, next he was gone, just disappeared. I kept staring, willing him to come back. I didn’t want to be alone here anymore. I turned inward wondering, “Is this a dream? What did I just see? I thought I was awake.” I slapped myself in the face. I heard the crack of my palm on my cheek but I felt nothing. A shivering fear rushed from the soles of my feet to the top of my head, raising the small hairs on my skin to attention. It seemed as if the hissing of the rain increased in volume.

“I have to get out of here!” I told myself for there was no one else with me. Or so I thought.

I turned away from the rain and knelt to collect my ‘stuff’ and repack it in my backpack. The flickering of the fire caught my eye and I turned to look at it. The flames had changed. From the cheery, dancing yellow-orange-reds that threw a welcome heat, my fire had transformed into an icy blue heatless flame that both repelled me and solidified my desire to leave. I stood and turned to go. And immediately stopped. A man was standing at the mouth of the cave. A terrifying visage of a man.

He was rather short, but wide in body. His hair was long and black, tied with leather strings so that it didn’t hang in his face. It glistened and glittered in the icy blue light from the fire. The man was dressed in leather leggings, breechcloth and moccasins. They were stained from use, but geometric designs, that had been painted or dyed on the leather, showed on them. His shoulders were covered with a cape or cloak made from rabbits skins that had been sewn together lengthwise so that the darker and lighter fur ran in stripes vertically. The bare skin of his arms and chest was a dark bronze. Yellow, orange, and black stripes were painted on his cheeks running from his nose to his ears. His teeth were large and white as Chiclets and clenched tight in a grimace of anger.

The man was armed with an eight foot long spear, tipped with a leaf shaped blade made from black obsidian. He thrust it at my chest. I was frozen, helpless, waiting for the point to pierce my skin–my ribcage–my rapidly beating heart. The blade hung there, an infinitely small space between it and me. The black volcanic glass flashed points of light as if it had a light source inside that deadly form. The hands holding the spear shaft twisted it so that a burst of light flashed from every facet of the exquisite weapon. My hands slowly rose like I was being held up by a western movie bandit.

Sound burst from his snarling lips, orders of some kind, I guessed. If it was language, it was nothing that I knew of. It sounded like gibberish to me. The moment that the thought laid its track on my consciousness, a voice covered that track, saying, “Oh ye foolish white slug! What gives thee the right? The right to think that thine is the only way, thou would-be master of the world.”  The disdain dripped from the lips of whoever uttered those words. I looked around for another person who might have spoken. I couldn’t see anyone else.

When I moved my head, the man shouted another line of words that I didn’t understand. I stopped moving. “I’m harmless, you don’t want to hurt me. Put the spear down. I promise…” the words had barely left my mouth when the savage man’s eyes widened, then squeezed into a frown. He thrust the spear, that fraction of space that I have mentioned, and some distance after that. How far, I can’t say, for I fainted dead away, the moment that the sharp point touched my skin.

I awoke later, how much later, well, who knows. When I came to, I was in a tangled heap near the fire, the savage man squatting across the heatless fire from me. He stared at me with no apparent expression. I groaned, as I untangled my stiff limbs. When all was in order, I rolled to a sitting position. I looked back at the man.  His black eyes glittered with the same light that had flashed from the spearpoint. I bent forward, trying to stand. A huge pain raced through my chest, starting from the point that the wicked spear had pierced my skin. I groaned. This brought another burst of the unknown language. I stopped moving. The savage man gestured at me, pointing first to me, then to his own chest and then back to me. I looked down. My shirt was laid open and my bare chest was exposed. There was an angry red scar, from the base of my throat to the bottom of my breast bone. My eyes flew upward to accuse the savage of some dark deed, my lips opened to shout the allegation, “What the…”. The savage held up his hand in the universal sign for ‘STOP’. I did. The voice in my head spoke again, “Hold, foolish white man, you are not damaged. Ye may think that ye are, but ye be wrong.”

“I’m seriously scarred, and permanently, it looks like to me. How can you say that you haven’t damaged me? Wait…how long was I unconscious?” I spoke back to the voice. I noticed that the savage seemed to be listening to the same words that I was, because he nodded in agreement at the right places in the discussion and shook his head side to side when I replied. “How can that be?” I asked myself.

The voice replied, “Here all things be possible.”

I watched the savage nod in agreement again. He genuflected, or so I guessed, not exactly like a Catholic, but close, real close. As this thought ran through my brain, the voice answered, “That is his way of saying the same thing, and it is also a sign of respect. Those two concepts are the same here.”

The savage gave me an, ‘I told you so!’ look. The voice continued, “In the future, Coimirceoir will speak to thee in the sign language of his people and ye will  understand it in thine own native tongue. He is the guardian of this place. Coimirceoir means guardian in the language of his fathers. He is now guardian of thee as well.”

At this the savage grimaced in my direction. I grimaced back and rubbed my chest.

 

Republished from May 2011 Copyright© Michael D. LeFevre Dreamscape is a multi-episode short story

Story of the Week

Happy Holidays! I like this story (and don’t know why) so if you have read it in the past, bear with me. I dream often and sometimes the scenes from them make it into written form. This story is  a mixture of some real days and some odd dreams. There are more episodes to come over the coming weeks. I hope you enjoy…

Dreamscape

Episode #1

             I walked out of the trees into the clearing. It was raining. When I say that it was raining, I mean it was raining like a cow pissing on a flat rock (sorry about the crude analogy). The view of the wide valley was obscured by angry, dark storm clouds and sheets of rain.  The only sound was the hissing of the falling rain.  I searched for signs of life.  Any movement at all.  A bird call, a frolicking rabbit, a shy deer. “Probably all hid up, out of the rain, if they have any sense at all.” I told myself.  Continuing on, I sloshed through the mud, slipping, sliding.  Sticky clay, sticking to my soles like taffy sticking to my teeth. The rain didn’t let up, it poured from the sky like a waterfall, streams of water, not individual drops.

Finally, I came to a shallow cave, deep enough to be dry inside, just enough.  I unslung my rifle, for I was hunting, dropped my pack, and began to gather dry sticks from a pack rat’s nest in the rear corner, to build a fire.  Maybe I could dry out some and heat my lunch in the bargain.  I gathered the smallest twigs for the base, they were the first to catch the flame of a match. Then the medium size placed on top of this flammable pile.  Digging through my pack, I found the waterproof vial with the strike-anywhere matches. I removed one and scratched it quickly across a small rock laying near the pile of tinder.

The match flared and I laid it in the pile of small twigs, hoping for the flame to catch and build into a heat intense enough to enflame the rest of the pile.  While the small flicker and crackle of the fire steadily grew, I gathered more twigs. The fire burned nicely with the wood stolen from the nest. I carefully peeled my wet outer clothes off and draped them on some longer sticks. Far enough from the fire so that if they fell they wouldn’t drop into the flames.

I dug into my pack and pulled out a sack that had four slices of bread and some sliced Spam and onion. I found a flat stone and washed it in the rain water dripping from the front of the cave. I set it in the edge of the flames to dry and heat up enough to roughly fry the Spam. I had included some mayo and mustard in some small plastic bags. That morning I had included two cans of beer in my lunch sack. I lifted one out and popped the top, quickly lowering my mouth to catch the foamy rush. When the stone was dry I laid the sliced Spam on it and listened to the sizzle.

I adjusted my drying clothes as my lunch heated. The rain didn’t let up, if anything , it rained harder. I puttered about arranging the bread and cut the onion and divided it evenly between the two sandwiches. I decided that the meat was warm enough, my stomach rumbled with hunger. After assembling the sandwiches and setting them on the pack, I sat cross-legged on the ground facing out into the rain, eating slowly and washing the pungent sandwiches down with the beer. The fire radiated enough heat that it was comfortable even in the cool dampness.

Obviously, hunting anything in this storm was a waste of time, but I was out here now and I didn’t want to go home this early in the day. So I threw another stick on the fire and watched the rain fall.

Sudden movement at the edge of my vision caused me to turn quickly in that direction. What I saw caused the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. A large coyote sauntered up to the cave’s entrance and stopped. It stood there looking at me with that feral predatory look that large wild canines adopt when they find something worth pursuing. Without taking my eyes off of the threat, I reached around behind me searching for the leaning rifle. I failed. I didn’t dare turn around. Just as I was about to leap up in desperation, the coyote said, “Fooled you didn’t I. You thought I was going to eat you. No way, not after you ate that stinking Spam and onion sandwich.”

My mouth dropped open. I swear that my chin bounced on my chest. And I’ll bet my eyes were as large and round as a saucer.  The coyote grinned, you know what a dog looks like when they smile, well, a coyote’s smile is very similar.  “What you doing out here in the rain, you soft, white human being? Besides polluting your body with that nasty canned meat?” he said. I decided the coyote was a he by the tone of his voice.

“Huntin’” I replied.

“Oh…huntin’ what?” he asked.

“Deer” I said.

“In here?” the coyote’s ears swiveled, and he cocked his head as if perplexed. “I don’t see any deer in here, not even any sign that they have been in here.” He sat down and stared at me.

“Well, I have hiked for 4 hours in this rain. I was wet and hungry, and kinda cold. So I decided to get out of the rain and have some lunch. I didn’t even see a fresh track in all that time.” I whined.

“No doubt, deer aren’t stupid you know, a little dull and unimaginative, but not stupid.  Likely, they are huddled under a tree somewhere. Staying dry. You could’ve stayed home in your soft, warm, and dry bed” he laughed, silently.

I looked at him, embarrassed a bit, by the obvious. Something caught my eye and I looked at him more carefully. “You’re dry! How can you wander around in this rain and not be sopping wet?” I was amazed and not a little confused. If the truth was known, I was getting scared now, this didn’t seem to be normal.

The coyote sighed. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice. It makes this a lot more complicated.” He paused. “I’m a special coyote. You might have already guessed that. What you don’t know is you picked THIS cave to hide from the rain…big mistake. BIG.” I wanted to ask why but the coyote shook his head as if saying not to. “Don’t ask, I can only tell you that this cave is a spirit cave…a portal to the realm of the Gods. I can’t tell you what that means or what happens next. You just got to go with the flow.”

Now I was scared. Not of the talking coyote, but at his latest revelation. I am easily spooked at ‘spiritual’ doings.

“Gotta go, you take care now” he barked, “Remember who you are and where you came from, and keep an open mind. Maybe we’ll meet again, maybe not. But it’s been fun.” He stood and turned to go.

“Wait! What’s your name? Do you got one?” I wanted to postpone his leaving because I knew that when he was gone, I would really be frightened.

The coyote stopped and turned back, “Everything in creation has a name. And I don’t mean some trumped up Latin concoction, I mean an individual name. Mine’s Wiley…Wiley Coyote.” He laughed mirthlessly, then he turned back and started to walk away but he stopped at a large clump of grass and cocked his leg and gave it a couple of squirts.  He walked into the rain.

Republished from May 2011 Copyright© Michael D. LeFevre Dreamscape is a multi-episode short story