The Beginning of Death
I am not susceptible to poison oak. If ever I do get it, it is hardly noticeable and lasts 24 hours.
Why then has it been two weeks and both of my legs are covered in poison oak, no end in sight? The wounds are deep, the weeping is constant. My bandages are hard like casts. I can’t stop itching and popping blisters.
Suddenly I am susceptible to poison oak?
I had cured my 5 year long case of eczema with my spiritual practice this past year, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask the teachers about this new skin-related case.
“They’re trying to get your attention.”
“They?”
“You’re picking up a lot of dead stuff for the studio, right?”
“Yea, but how is that linked to the poison oak?”
Silence, as she lets me put the pieces together in my head. Ah, yes. We have learned that mind, body, and spirit all try to get my attention through my skin.
Right, and with the recent Crow pecking at the brain scenario, it would make sense that the dead animals I’ve accumulated have complaints for me and are trying to get my attention… Here we go again.
“Right, so, have you been honoring them and making clear to them what you’re planning on doing?”
“Obviously not well enough, if this is the situation I find myself in. What do you suggest?”
“Talk to each animal and ask what they want.”
“I have at least 12 completed paintings, in addition to the curing specimens. We both know where this is going…”
“Only you can decide what to do in the end.”
Ugh. This. Is. Going. To. SUCKKKKKK.
Off I go, bringing all of my paintings and animals home. I do not want this energy inside my house, for fear of making things worse. They get to hang out outside on the back porch until the next day. It’s dark. I’m tired. Tomorrow they will be heard. Iterative forward movement.
That night, I am in the hottub - looking at the bags, paintings, and cradles on my back porch. Someone had recently brought me a [dead] baby gopher snake that I was excited about. A particularly cheeky little bastard.
>I want to be buried now.
I hear as I am approaching the back porch after my soak, intending to go inside and go to bed. I walked on as if I didn’t notice anything. It’s 11PM.
>NOW.
It’s the cheeky bastard. I am surprised for such a little fellow, this one is the most vocal of all.
>Can you wait until tomorrow? It’s really late.
>NOW.
>Fine. Now.
I go inside to grab the basics for ceremonial burial: bourbon, dark chocolate, small shovel, and a large metal bowl.
The bowl is for the flowers I am about to pick.
I am in my white bathrobe. In the backyard. Picking flowers and thinking about a proper burial spot for Cheeky Bastard.
Landlords, please do not look outside!
I don’t think there was even a moon. I had opted for no flashlight. Dark as it ever was… Mega stealth spirit mode.
With a bowl full of fresh flowers, bourbon and other goods in hand, Cheeky Bastard in his bag, I set off on my back yard trek in search of the burial site.
Ah, good, a spot way off in the back of the yard, behind bushes under trees. I can use a light. Snake is happy.
I dig a little hole with my little shovel, place the baby gopher snake in, and other accoutrements on top. Cover with soil. Flowers and a little extra bourbon on top to seal the deal.
>Thank you. You will feel better in the morning.
The last words from this little fellow.
An example of a baby gopher snake.