A New Perspective

Nights like this, I wonder why people ever decided to sleep while the sun is down. There is a full moon, and it reflects the silhouettes of trees and rocks. Freshly fallen snow glitters like stars. It is a lovely distraction from the thoughts that keep me awake at night. My heartbeat is synchronized with the rhythmic sound of crunching snow beneath the horse’s hooves. It looks like light ahead, but I have lived in these woods long enough to know better. It is a clearing. A plain of snow reflects the moonlight, making it glow against the contrast of the dark, thick woods. The trees begin to thin, and ahead I see movement. Rabbits. They are leaping about. It looks like a coven of witches dancing around a fire. Their friskiness is an effect of the full moon. A flash of memory springs to the surface of my mind. It is my sisters and I dancing. I cling to the memory trying to bring more to the surface, but the vision shatters and I forget once again.

I clutch my bow and pull at the horse’s reins. He stops and I dismount. Taking the reins over his head I set them down, ground tying the horse. Leaving the horse, I stay on the edge of the clearing, using the tree line for cover. Reaching over my shoulder, I retrieve an arrow and nock it on the string of my bow. My breathing is slowed by instinct. I feel the natural predator that I am taking over my body. My muscles tense; I wait completely still for the next step. My bow, held at ready, feels weightless in my hands. My eyes focus in on the fattest rabbit; I freeze waiting for my opportunity.

In one motion, I draw the bow and release the arrow. The arrow strikes true, and death follows simultaneously. The other rabbits in the clearing continue their dance, unaware of what has taken place. I watch them, amused by their ignorance, when a flash of talons appears and retrieves the dead rabbit. This attack did not go unnoticed by the other rabbits, they disperse into nearby burrows. A great white bird carries the rabbit effortlessly into the top of a nearby pine tree.

Had it been an apparition? I strain to see the faint outline of the bird. I want a better look. It is a rare and beautiful sight to see a night bird. I settle down in the snow, intent on watching the bird. Glancing behind me, I look to my horse. He waits and watches. A ghastly hissing noise draws my attention. I look around and nock another arrow. The sound is otherworldly. I look up at the bird. It’s head is forward, and its wings are outstretched. It is looking right at me calling for my attention. It is like no sound I thought a bird could make. I set my bow down beside me, there is no threat.

The bird flies from the tree. I hear the air move out from under beating wings. The dead rabbit is dropped nearby. A barn owl lands in front of me. Set in the middle of it’s heart-shaped face are eyes, two black seeps of intelligence. It’s watching me. I reach for the rabbit. Grabbing the knife in my belt, I cut a piece of meat, tossing it toward the owl. It swallows the meat greedily. I cut another piece and hold it out in my hand. The owl leaps onto my forearm and takes the meat from my hand. Talons dig into my arm drawing blood. I ignore the pain, enamored with the beauty of the owl.

The owl blinks, and my own eyes go dark. I open them, I am seeing human eyes, blue, sitting beneath long black lashes. A sapphire cloak hides a women’s face. The cloak is familiar, I reach for my own hood and pull it down. The woman’s head is crowned in a thick black braid. I am looking at my own face.

I blink rapidly, and my sight is restored, I see the owl sitting on my arm. I reach out my hand, and the owl allows me to stroke it’s head and wing. Tingles run down my neck as though someone is running their fingers through my hair. The thought comes into my head, “This is the first human I have seen in ages.” A glimpse of my own face appears again in my sight but vanishes quickly. The thought is in my head, but it does not feel like my own. I have not seen another human, that is true. But just now, I had not seen another human, I had seen myself. Logic cannot grasp the information before me. The unanswerable questions make my heart race, and panic grips my airway. The owl leaps from my arm and vanishes as quickly as it had appeared. I sink to my knees and clasp my hands over my mouth. There are no other people. I am alone. I breathe too quickly, I am hyperventilating. I keep my hands tight over my mouth denying my body the extra oxygen that will make me pass out. Where is my horse? Which direction is home? I ask myself logical questions to distract myself from the fear. Looking toward my horse, I find purpose and slow my breathing. I am ok. My sleep deprived mind made this whole thing up. I am going home to get rest.

I awake, and the house is filled with light. It feels like late afternoon. I am glad to be lying under a pile of furs because I can see my breath. The fire has been out for hours. I stare at the ceiling and remember the rabbits, the owl, and my face. I had seen myself from an outside perspective. I had looked like a stranger, but I had also known it was me. There are times that I forget about the existence of people completely. I have forgotten what it is like to look into another person’s eyes. There are remnants of people all around, but the people are gone. Entire cities sit vacant. No apparent signs of distress or destruction. The people vanished into thin air. Whatever god has taken them, did not want me.

I used to go to the city for supplies. I do not go there anymore. The empty city does not feel empty. Things are still changing in subtle but obvious ways. I can feel the bustle of city life. If I stand on the street, a breeze hits me like the passing of a car. New buildings are appearing, old ones are renovated. I cannot see the changes being made, I blink, and things are different. It feels like all the people are still living there, but I cannot see them.

I used to remember my life before everyone vanished. Those memories have faded, along with them, the person I had been. I do not feel like a person. I do not worry if I am beautiful. I have no ambition. The only thing I want is to survive.

A nagging bladder pulls me away from my thoughts. I get out of bed, my toes sting with cold, even though I slept with my boots on. I step outside to relieve myself and see a low sun. There are not many hours of daylight left. I want to keep busy. I do not like the places my mind is already wandering. I can usually keep control of my thoughts in the daylight. Darkness has its way of unleashing the madness. I used to be tormented by my past. But now I am tormented by an unknown purpose. Why am I here, and what am I supposed to be doing? There are moments I almost know what it is, but the answer rushes away from me like leaves in the wind. I have tried convincing myself that I am just another animal in the forest. That thought leaves me more tormented.

I cannot answer these questions right now, I can chop wood. Picking up my axe immediately calms me. It is good medicine for anxiety. I swing the axe down and pick it back up. Splinters fly around me, and I start to feel warm again. I talk to myself. “I will heat the house. I will eat.” I pick up the axe. “I will feed my horse.” I swing the axe. The owl appears in my mind. I turn the axe in my hand, and it lands sideways on the wood. A shock runs through my hands and up my arms. It makes my bones ache. The handle of the axe splits from the shock. I drop it and look at my hands. A large splinter protrudes from my glove, it makes me feel queasy. I move toward the house, a deafening scream penetrates the air. I look up to find flashing talons coming toward to me. It is the ghost from my dream. I stumble backwards over my pile of wood. I cover my face with my arms hoping to avoid the talons. The attack does not come. I peek from behind my arms to see the owl sitting on a log. I stare at the owl and decide it means me no harm. I am brought back to the pain in my hand. I need to tend to my wound. I watch the owl while I get on my feet. It does not move. It only watches me.

“Wait for me” I speak aloud to the owl, as I go into the house. I sit down next to the candle and hold up my hand. I grab the wood and pull it out quickly. I remove my glove. There is a puncture in my palm but it’s not too deep. I wrap cotton around my hand. I look at my sleeve; there is dried blood. It cannot be blood from my hand. I take off my coat and sweater and find puncture marks, scabbed over, on my forearm. Marks left from the owl gripping my arm the night before. It had not been a dream.

I fish a piece of meat from the soup pot. I walk to the door and kneel, extending the meat to the owl. The owl comes easily to me. It takes the meat from my hand and allows me to touch its head. My vision is disrupted, and I find myself staring at my own face. I glance down at my own empty hand, I feel hunger. I am not hungry. The owl is hungry. I can see and feel what the owl is seeing and feeling. I try to focus into my own sight. I find, that with concentration, I can look with my own vision, but it is still layered with the owl’s sight. Its like looking through a glass window to see a tree but also seeing my own reflection on the surface of the glass. I walk back into the kitchen to retrieve more meat. I fill a bowl with soup for myself. I walk back to the door and sit on the threshold.

I put meat on the ground for the owl, and I eat from my bowl. The owl is delighted with its meal, the feeling settles within me, I too begin to find delight in the soup I am eating. I had forgotten that eating is fun. It does more than satisfy hunger, it brings life to my soul. I had not thought of my soul in a long time. In this moment, that illusive layer within me lights up and begins to hum.

The owl and I finish our meal together. I reach out to the owl hoping it will understand. The owl jumps onto my forearm, understanding me perfectly. I scratch the owl under the beak and speak aloud. “I would like to call you Joan. I had a sister named Joan.” The owl squeaks affectionately. Through the double vision, I notice darkness on my own face. I had forgotten about my sister. I had forgotten how I loved her. I cannot see her face in memory, but painful emotions rise to the surface. My airway tightens. I need to find my sister. I need to fix what is broken. Shame engulfs me. Joan, the owl, leaves me; she wants no part of my fear. I fall to the ground covering my head as if to stop an outside attack. I hear Joan screech in the distance. The sound grounds me enough that I stand up and compose myself. I can still see through Joan’s eyes. I focus on her sight, and my own torment subsides.

Joan covers ground quickly. I see rivers and diverse trees. Her vision is keen. She zeroes in on small mammals. She can see mice cleaning their whiskers, even though she is well above the trees. The earth looks beautiful from her vantage point. It looks tame. Joan can go anywhere. How free she must feel. I want to feel what she is feeling. I feel lost, and alone. My mind begins to rush away with those emotions, when Joan dives headfirst off a cliff. It looks like the edge of the earth. It sends butterflies through my stomach. I stop worrying and working for today. I go to my bed. I want to see where Joan flies.

Surveying Joan’s flight is so peaceful, my body relaxes, and I drift off to sleep. I wake up and peaceful dreams of flying are still alive in my mind. This is the first good night of sleep I have had in years. My body feels whole; there is no pain or coldness. I do not begrudge the day nor worry about chores. I want to relax. I want to fly. I reach with my mind for Joan. I cannot find her. But I have memory of her flight last night, and I intend to relive it again and again.

Evening comes quickly, I have no fear of the impending darkness. I am uninterested in the questions that haunt me. I look forward to a visit from Joan. She is the answer to something.

I wait outside for Joan with a fresh rabbit. My horse is ready to ride. Joan announces herself with a screech before she appears. Our thoughts connect as soon as I see her. I have my forearm bound in leather, and I extend it out to her. She lands naturally on me. She is happy to see me; we bask in mutual affection for one another. I set Joan near the rabbit, and I focus on a mental image of the cliff from which I had watched her fly last night. I can see myself riding my horse; I am led by Joan.

Finished eating, Joan looks at me expectantly. I walk to my horse. Joan takes flight, and I encourage my horse forward. I feel that Joan is filled with pleasure. She finds a draft and lets it push her high into the air. The ride is exhilarating. My horse thunders along the path, weaving in between trees and jumping over obstacles. He seems aware that we are following Joan, she flies low picking the path for us.

The sun is setting ahead; this golden hour leaves the trees filled with light. There are animals active all around. They watch us go by without worry. Some animals chase us. Our joy is contagious. I let go of my horse’s reins. I trust him, and he trusts Joan. I open my arms trying to receive more of the beauty that surrounds me.

Joan slows down and lands on a boulder. I ride up to her and dismount from my horse. I leave his reins on the ground and climb up to Joan. A sliver of the sun still shows. The sky is exploding in pink and orange. I find myself looking off the edge of the earth. I am on a cliff so high that there are clouds beneath me. My knees become weak, so I sit. The whole earth falls silent to witness the end of another day. Not even the wind moves. The silence and stillness embrace me like a heavy blanket. My breath enters my body and leaves so smoothly that there is nothing in this world I want to do, other than breathe.

The sun slips from view, and the light of day dissipates. Venus appears. Remembering Joan is with me, I glance at her. Her keen eyes are focused on the horizon. I love her.

Since I have found myself alone in this world, I have agonized over all the wicked things I have done that could warrant my banishment. I have been stuck in a prison of loneliness, and I punish myself for it every day. But as I investigate the starry sky and reach to touch the moon, that seems so near, I cannot make myself believe that I am here as punishment. I do not feel alone. My feet are connected to the ground. My vision is tied with Joan’s. My ears reach for the sound of my horses breathing. I feel my own soul singing a silent song that seems to say. I am the moon, the stars, and the earth.

I am not alone on the earth; I am the earth. And the whole of me is filled with life.

I stand up and yell, “I AM HERE”. Echoes bounce across the canyon, “I am here. I am here. I am here.” I have a question. I can ask it, and I will not precede the answer with the reasons I deserve punishment. I speak softly, “Why am I here?” The stars do not answer me. My mind reveals a memory.

I was sitting on the roof of my house, pleading to God. My heart was heavy with worry; I wept for the heartbroken, hungry, angry world. I wept for fear that kept me in bondage. Ready for understanding? I whispered, “How can I save this world?” My intention was so pure and so honest; I knew the universe was obligated to answer me. Silence followed my question. God was not home. I climbed back through my window and downstairs. I looked to find my father, mother, and sisters, they were nowhere to be found. I went to the neighbor’s house, nobody was home. The whole city was void of human life. I was alone.

I try not to let that memory sting. The answer to my question must be in the memory. I have plenty of time to figure it out. Tonight, I just want to be. I am here.