Spirits of the Wildflowers

by Parris Match

  Dacoh and Tahee were steered before two positioned sitting-rocks, and directed to take their seats; Oocee brought forth two bowls of cornmeal sprinkled liberally with the blessed pinion nuts, placing them on the ground in front of each seated initiate, which the prompted couple picked up and ritually exchanged.

  Ahcoo’ah spoke from within the customary gathered congregation; “DACOH…”, “TAHEE…” he loudly announced, “ONE the vigorous steadfast stem, and ONE the budding beautiful flower”, “May the glorious sheltered valley of The Forgotten Ones, bloom with bright color once again”.

  “Aie…, Aie…, Aie…” came the people’s hopeful reply.

  “ Welcome to our new brother”, “ Welcome to our new sister”, Ahcoo’ah shouted out, “ They are for One Purpose!”; “Their Joy is our happiness”, “Their Sorrow is our despair”; “ Comfort and Harmony to our brother and sister; for ALL the happy Sun-filled days, the benevolent Great Spirit will allow”.

  “Aie…, Aie…, Aie…” came the peoples resounding consent.

  Eeboh and Oocee, chosen guides tending in the role of best shepherds, ushered the newly joined couple to their place of abode, the hereditary cave once occupied by the pitiful expelled Malee. Rushing ahead of the united pair, the festive people of the village strew kernels of corn on the furrowed pathway and sprinkled freshly attained water upon the flinchingly advancing couple; eagerly proclaiming, hoping for this fertile spring, followed by a soon abundant harvest. Buoyant reflective morning sunshine Spectra, watched over the fluttery larking merry people, as they made their way up into the hallowed niche, to the recently furnished cavern, set within the compassionate soul of highest stone mountain.

  Brushed aside from the entrance to the private den, a shrouded unidentifiable sack of contrary refuse squatted; Malee in her wretched ritually banished insignificance; three cold days and three cold nights devoid of any provisions or any shelter, establishing her willingness to concur. Passing near to the ignored scruffy pelt-bag, with purposeful feigned disregard, Dacoh, with Tahee shyly following, crossed the threshold of his dwelling place, his sole exclusive estate within the heart of the Spirit; his elevated status, as a proper husbandman, approvingly witnessed by the people. Looking about the cave and recognizing the family’s concerted effort, Dacoh turned and loudly stated;

  “My good people have provided me with selfless kindness”, “The charitable openhanded mountain Spirits and the warm Exalted Spirit of the Sun should not forget”.

  Taking Tahee’s hand, Dacoh led her to the partially enclosed, concealed sleeping chamber at the back of the cavern; there lay the missing clay pots, baskets, all the well placed mats and soft pelts, carefully arranged for their use. Tahee, hitherto in her naive limbo, could not resist her delighted surprise. Sitting Tahee on the array of pelts and motioning her to stay; with curious expectant dark-brown eyes following closely, around the corner from behind, Dacoh went outside the entrance of the comfortable cave to fulfill this time-honored duty.

  Dotingly crafted familiar moccasins stood before the forlorn bundle, discarded and hunched, Malee; bent old hoary withered crone, useless from a practical sense, darkly hooded brow peering down on Dacoh’s feet. Weeping obscured recognition quickened her aching vacant heart; unseen furrowed face, unseen weary eyes, unseen pained hopeful tears, stifled pathetic whimpers should not be heard. Gentle compassionate hands pushed back the shrouding disguise, making full public; the shriveled, pitiful, fully compliant Malee. Tender remembrance and a swift current of sympathy, flowed to his nurturing source; lifting his sweet mother from her bleak desolation, then ably assisting this gaunt broken property, to the closed confines of his cavern estate, situating her gently in his chosen quarter. The people of the village whooped and applauded, Dacoh’s warm kindheartedness; he was a thoughtful stalwart selfless son. The renewed communally carved apartment was a suitable cozy refuge; there would certainly be no discordant contradiction in Dacoh’s restricted home.

  From the first day Dacoh had proudly introduced Tah to the valley of the Forgotten Ones, he had skillfully, with measured intoning repetition and some etched written display, taught her the words of his people; the clear soothing vowelization of harmony, in the language of the light, presenting all of the existent Spirits for her to know. Each rock, each tree, each blade of grass, the eminent Sun and the conspicuous Moon; the flitting birds, the fluffy passing clouds, the sonant telltale breeze, the identifiable glimmering stars at night; the sprinting antelope, the darting fox, the scampering rabbit, the mimicked hooting owl; and in moments of placid comforting, in close whispered intertwined affection, to see, to hear, to touch, to smell; to… taste, to feel.

  The encouraged people of the village exuberantly dispersed from the traditional ritual of the accession; of a kind passage of Dacoh’s birthright, the fixed qualified entitlement to his property, conveying Tahee and Malee and this dwelling plot to their master’s devise.

  Settling Malee in a corner at the forefront of the cave, fetching and tucking the displaced old crone warmly within an added pelt, soothingly assuring her of their quick return, Dacoh, with Tahee, proceeded to the cooking hut to acquire their needed sustenance. Receiving an extra ration for the well-proven Malee, the couple hurried back to the cave, to care for the ousted gradually molting doe. Tahee inevitably would take her ageing sister’s customary position, by earnestly keeping close watchfulness, fulfilling all the necessary womanly obligations to her man and to the commune.

  Escorting Tahee, a short distance from the cave, to the decanting splashy sparkling grotto of the pure falling water, Dacoh demonstrated to Tahee, the proper way to receive the hallowed bequest of water from the mountain high Spirits. In committing the clay ewer under the foremost flowing cascade, always keeping your silence, modesty be your guide; brimming the proffered urn directly from the Spirits heart, never allowing it to touch the ground in its filling. It was Nahata {forbidden} to taint the water with the slightest act of irreverence. The bountiful gift of the water, were the precious compassionate tears, imparted from the ever present manifest ancient Spirits, to the forgiven wandering wayward children of The Forgotten Ones.

  Impenetrable coldness, dreary gray, low depressed motionless skies; eternal over-bearing frosty wintry crags, detained foggy breaths, smokes pungent tangy cloud held under close arrest; the unmoving village in lackluster hibernation. Flaccid deadened squatted-sacks huddled-round those secluded fires, stoically abiding this frigid chapter in their time, dormant and uncomplaining. Self-confident bundled-up anticipation, short-lived shivering discomfort recently assured, the radiant warmhearted Sun-spirit’s promised glorious return; twofold clear-sighted sunrise positions, delineated glanced sunbeams etched by one and nine, duly witnessed and validated by well-chosen authority, ritually confirmed as of the notched grand escarpment.

  Unexpectedly, Tahee would weep, with short and quick uncontrollable spasms of heart-rending anguish.

  “Aie…? Tahee…”, Dacoh would sympathetically inquire; Malee, still…in her separated retiring nook, not interfering.

  “Kala”, Tahee nostalgically answered.

  Dacoh did not understand; at a loss, lightly shaking his head.

  Cuddled, spooned, in the dark pitch within their walled-in snug sleeping chamber, sad throaty whimpers in her dreamy sleep; “Kala”, “Kala”, “Kala…” escaped a child’s lips; Dacoh suffered unrest. Embracing her, hugging her, and pulling her close, tender consolation curbed the outward maiden-tide. Malee, awakened on the other side, knew of woman’s fleeting lunar melancholy, but kept her unspoken counsel.

  KALA, subservient tolerated sister of Tah’s mother, all-ways barren, of little to no value, flatfooted stout guardian of the virgin fawn; failure in her simple duty, therefore, expelled burdensome pest. The missing abducted most beautiful Tah…, the pre-budding vessel, her seething disappointed fathers’ only way to gain a son. From the day Tah had been ruthlessly stolen from the valley of the River People, Kala had been a nonsensical blubbering, demented
, sagging sack of leaking mush, having been brutally thwacked in the head, smashed in the side of her shattered scull, by Dacoh’s decisive rock.

  Tah’s unforgiving merciless vindictive father could not waive the blame; Kala was responsible for this irreversible disaster. A foul, shuffling and slobbering, incontinent dribbling imbecile, wandering about the village, incoherently calling out, mournfully; “Thaah…, Thaah…, Wheah ith my lithel Thaah”. The River People recognized Kala’s inherent right to exist, but bid her nothing, not a discarded crumb nor a rancid scrap. Not wanting her baneful uncontrollable madness too near, her hardhearted scurrilous hateful brothers and her cowed tight-lipped humbled empathetic sisters, paid no heed, acting as if she was not there. “Thaah…, Thaah…, Wheah ith my lithel Thaah”.

  The flabby blathering scraggily stinking old ewe, was pushed and banished from every door, denied any shelter or pardon, a worthless un-welcome outcast; she could go where she wished, but explicitly, not here; vicious kicks and the children’s pelted rocks drove the nanny goat from their village.

  Dark forbidding undulant shifting stream of bitterness, on a hollowest darkly night, low thin suspended foggy mantle, cold dead clammy silence; not the err of a flutter, or a bats tremulous squeak, or a glistened frog’s romantic doleful croak. Who’s there…? Are you there…?. A dull limp thud, tumbling clack of smoothed rock, a faint insignificant splatter within the callous cold river, seemingly heard by no one, neither charitable Spirit nor critical man. Dim transient flotsam, unsure of its chosen course, wandered within the roundabout eddy’s flow; detained stale wetted gunny-sack, snarled and held within a tangle of twisted briar. Sloshing icy-cold curses, constant brutal thrashings, by the unforgiving beaten current; whipt-whipt-whipt-whipt-whipt-whipt-whipt, with no release. Seven curious moons witnessed the tightly wedged, leisurely bloating, most puffiest sow; wafting putrid in the low down drift, slowly rotting, blacknyellow, bruised carrion. Snuffling lowly ragged carnivores searched in vain. Up the streams curt deluge caused liberations flood; gentle lonely inflated hostage, ripped from its enslaved moorings, bobbling lightly down the turbulent torrents cluttered momentum. The overstuffed gaseous bag’s gliding bubble, clearly swept atop / down the discharging muddy stream; offensive swampy leaking useless refuse, never noticed, never mentioned, and soon forgotten.

  Tahee would never know of Kala’s dismal fate.

  Infinitely clear, flawless sapphire splendor, rapturous towering dark mauve and reddish-bronze paramount; sparkling snow-caps wintry bright icing, the cold stark unclothed lower valley laying ever so still, surrounding revelations of resplendent crystal clarity. Dacoh and Tahee would roam through these realities, his familiar home, engaging their intimacy and sharing this dormant hibernal time. Sitting before the departed Spirits grave stones, the permanent gathering spot of the sentries of the burning place, sole hallowed station of deaths transport; Dacoh would explain to Tahee, The Forgotten Ones’ faith in the benevolent good Spirits [Aiecatah]. Reverentially sifting through their ashes, he would reveal the bits of bone and scull, introducing Tahee to his transformed honored elder brothers, sprinkling their remains into the air and upon the ground; to proclaim that the harmonious ancients were present in all things; the earth, the sky, the rocks, the trees, the majestic mountain peaks that stood above. With lip-wetted finger, Dacoh dabbed the consecrated ash and placed it on tip of his tongue, repeating this sacramental gesture of tribute and contrition on the initiate, Tahee. For as the accustomed bounty of water, all corn was also the nurturing gift of the Spirits; Tahee had repeatedly observed that the dutiful women in the cooking hut, very showily and ceremoniously, added a pinch of this sacred soda ash to the newly pestled meal of corn; now she knew why.

  In a moment of sweeping effusive affections, reposing on the decaying trunk of a high-fallen tree; gazing dreamily over the idyllic changeable expanse of the enchanting peaceful valley. To witness the vivid inter-phasing blended facets of the kaleidoscopic Spirits; vary roseate blushing complexions pleasing to the eye, with rare white gossamer clouds passing over their prominent observation. Tahee, resting her head upon Dacoh’ chest, feeling the radiant heat through his shirted skin, his slowed throbbing heart fluent against her face; she gently stroked his shoulder, pressing her cheek closer into his rhythmic being, contentedly sighing; concealed messengers distinct cadenced drum, calling out his unique identity; “Dacoh”, “Dacoh”, “Dacoh”, “Dacoh”, “Dacoh”, “Dacoh”, “Dacoh”, “Dacoh”, “Dacoh”.

  Quickly sitting upright, Tahee abruptly blurted-out, “Malee-Malee-Malee!!”

  Raising up, propped on his elbows, Dacoh looked at her askance, at a loss with his little yapping sweet pet.

  Tahee placed her hand back on Dacoh’s chest, imitating his hearts palpitation; cupping her lower breast with her other hand she implored, “Malee”; then impersonating the same parodied impression upon herself, Tahee pleaded, “Kala”, “Kala”.

  Carrying on, waiting for no response, Tahee patted Dacoh’s chest, patted her stomach, then pantomimed a mollycoddled, teat suckling, newborns gurgling cradled embrace; “Malee”, she interposed; then thumping her own chest and rubbing her slightly swollen belly, followed by a caricatured self-cooing endearing self-snuggly sentimental hug, she recapped the searching plea, clucking tenderly, “Kala…Kala…Kala”.

  Malee was His mother, Kala was Her mother; Dacoh obligingly nodded.

  Indicating himself, Dacoh declared, “Malee; Neenyah”, then pointing at Tahee, he gently affirmed, “Kala; Neenyah”.

  “Kala-Neenyah”, of course, mimicked, Tahee.

  “My saddened heart cries out for my devoted loyal guardian; My Neenyah”, Tahee tearfully pled; Dacoh looked on sympathetically, perceiving her intense unhappiness, but only understanding her inference to the single word; ‘Neenyah’.

  Reaching for, and taking Tahee’s small hand in his, tenderly responsive to her deep despair; kissing her cheek with the gentle lighthearted flutter from the wings of a dove, Dacoh comforted his crestfallen little white bird, by soothingly softly murmuring, “ oocooyah… oocooyah… oocooyah…”, a word of acceptance .

  Sitting, in private council, before his sagacious mentor Ahcoo’ah, Dacoh vented his discomfited concern;

  “My proven woman expresses great sorrow; being separated from the warm comfort her mother; it gives me much distress”; Dacoh soberly revealed.

  “A fawn being taken from her doe is still lost in the wilderness”, Ahcoo’ah answered.

  The innocuous little fire fronting the entrance of Ahcoo’ah’s cave, prudently fed by one small stick at a time; Ahcoo’ah and Dacoh leaning in, almost squatted upon the flame; gaunt creased face, thumb-less sage/advisor and the eagerly searching youth, seeking the simple flow of harmony.

  “ As you have told me before, an abused cracked vessel will handover bitter offspring, likely gnashing of teeth, hostile outrage from fouled and curdled milk”, Dacoh asserted.

  Ahcoo’ah; never to have known the continuous affectionate, throaty, guttural, essence of a woman, could not but give sensible advice;

  “Nourish and water your modest fawn, but not to appetites’ excess; stroke her obedient brow, praise your little pet; then set and tamp the stake deeper, but lengthen the securing tether”.

  “She does not pull away, her clutch is firm and tight, but woeful begging doe-like eyes, search my solemn face, grave melancholy is disturbingly apparent”, Dacoh replied.

  “Request of your good mother, Malee, to intervene on occasion; to give reassurance to the little budding fawn, but to pamper too no extent, for sole dependence should not alter”; Ahcoo’ah recommended.

  “I will do as you say, Ahcoo’AH”.

  “The future of the valley and our people rests with you, Dacoh’ah, my chosen son; face up to the new dawn with good judgment”.

  Dacoh did what Ahcooah had suggested, he spoke softly to Malee aside from Tahee’s hearing, giving her permission to stroke and to soothe his little pet at his coded bidding, but not t
o entice her too close, for her hearts devotion and loyalty should not be divided or uncertain.

  Gradually curving outward, and up, from the lower scored sheer façade of the serrated marmoreal mountain, an eroded pinkish sandstone spur, arched towards the translucent sapphire sky; ending in a vivid, reddened, multihued, ringed phallic monolith; amidst a standing other troupe of obviously blushed ardent hoodoos. One of many, timeless enduring irregular stone pillars, rock symbols of those virile passionate spirits, accentuated by the corroded dark reddish-purple of the cliffs backing drape. These elevated stone sculptures located beyond the singular consecrated Burning Place. Ahcoo’ah, the prophet, in his spiritual guiding walks with Dacoh, when Dacoh was an attentive wide-eyed lapping youthful pup; therefore Ahcoo’ah, had wittingly designated one of this specific rigid telling icon, as Dacoh’s exclusive Spirit. A special high position, publicly allocated and belonging only to him; his elevated sanctified private place, to commune in silence, and at will, with the constant Spirits of the forever changing valley.

  Climbing the appending granular slippery adjoined spine, on selfcarved steps personally crafted in Dacoh’s early youth; Dacoh assisted his Tahee in reaching the sharply-honed protruding ridge. Then in carefully etched handholds and footholds they lifted themselves to the sacred crown of his sandstone promontory; perched on this privileged peaceful aerie, proudly sharing an intimate vision of his private domain, accompanied by the sweet refrain of a hopeful flute. A clear vast gold-n-emerald paradise, presented before them, immaculate first budding splendor on the promised tomorrow; near distant, the dark-vermilion boundary of the looming escarpment - thick shield against the chaotic and hostile, unsettling ill-winds from the immoral southern realm of the evil Spirits. Firstly songs of the returning, melodious, joyful winged, annual migrants; racing and competing then contesting, for their preferred abodes. Two adoring inseparable nestling young doves, on the precarious brink of the dusty-rose pinnacle; preening their feathers, laughing, quietly nuzzling, confirming their entrusted cause for one and each, “ oocooyah, oocooyah, oocooyah”.