Deva Anthology

The Mother's Gift, The Instinctual
by Judith Olson

Once upon a time early one spring dewy morning Margaret headed for the door with such a sudden swiftness, as if she were the earth in response to the sun, which shone exceptionally bright this day.

Her mother sensed her movement and dropped into her pocket something which looked to the small girl like a little wooden door. Her apron pocket already held yesterday's findings - dried, smashed or pulverized, depending on what the situation demanded. Her apron was a strap-on apothecary shop in her imagination. Each day she had a mission to be part of. Starting with a listening ear and observant eye for signs to guide the imagination - a blue jay, deer scat or paw prints - you know the kind of signs she observed. Her discoveries, though, never took her beyond where she could hear the dinner bell's ring reverberate.

She learned the boundary of its vibrations and knew the safety it lent her. There were reserves of medicinals along the way, stored in pockets and shelves of the rock-ledged birch grove. This is where she soared for years.

Centuries had passed and now she returned to understand in the deepest sense herself and her work. The kind of understanding that gives peace deep inner resolve, not necessarily glee, but relief in a certain way - that the hunt for herself would be over, a soul retrieved and strength ensued.

She came across a box that was labeled "Margaret 59" and in it was one of her matriarchal aprons that had been pasted and wrapped around a lot of fullness. She put it on and could hear her grandmother's voice, feel her large rough hands pulling roots and plants up from the soil. And in grabbing the small wooden door her belly felt movement.

In studying the small wooden door she noticed familiar markings on the door, those of bear claws from her hikes in the white mountains.

Without hesitation she opened the door in her imagination and arrived in a large open beamed barn. With many people in engaging smiles, laughter and eating from lavish tables of much harvest and the fire glowing its golden light over all the shining faces. It was an obvious celebration, everyone in the village had strung their claw- marked doors between the rafters: trophies of the bears' yearly return and haunting.

In listening to the stories of the clan's encounters with the wild beast and observing their celebration together, the animals' instinctual and yearly return to the village brought warmth to her heart to see the peace amongst the members.

Again her mother knew just how to get her attention, once again. Giving me a way to my mind's imagination and to remember how the instinctual nature has a place to preserve and bring an internal integrity to the clan members every year. But most of all how to return to the dream within oneself and to create.