Deer Man holds out his hand

We are on the far shore, deep in the green, standing still. We have come to a place of not moving. There is no clear path ahead, the green is all a tangle. I sense the river behind me, but not close, only a knowing that it lies in the direction I’m facing away from. The Ferryman stands behind me, patient. He’s carrying all my baggage. My hands are free. He’s not the only one with me, Urs is there, golden at my shoulder, and Night Hawk and Audra, the bear, Grace at a little distance, almost invisible, but for the twitch of her tail. The Wellspring is a fountain of light in me. I am in good company.

We stand listening, waiting to know which direction to go. I am listening for my lost one. She is out there somewhere. The wood is still and dense and dark. A cramp takes me, I fold and cough up something warm and distended – my frog heart, but not well. Not well at all. I go to my knees beside him. “What do you need?”


We must find a spring, a source. The desire spoken is instantly answered. There is a spring bubbling out from the roots of a great tree, a damp dark place crowded round with young growth. My frog heart goes into the small brown pool and is content. I cup my hands and drink.

Looking up, I see him across the water, tall and still with small knobbed antlers and eyes rimmed in a jeweled blue. Deer Man. I am awed and honored by his appearance. I gift him with the water that drips from the tips of my fingers and the light caught in the dripping. He is pleased with the offering. He holds out his hand to me. I step across to him. I think he will lead me where I need to go, but we do not move. He folds me in an embrace, my face to his chest. He works his fingers over my scalp and through my hair. He is planting knowing in my hair. He gifts me with the way of being in the wood – a consciousness of the space between things and a way to move without breaking the stillness.


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