The Shaman's Dream

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Prints & Gifts

I went hunting with my father. He caught sight of a Doe and he fired. She was hit. We chased after her. The sun was setting. We followed her blood trail over hills and across a stream. We caught up to her from the other side of a valley. She was halfway up the mountain and she could go no further. She stood still and stared back at us. She stood completely still and waited. He shot her from the standing at about 200 yards. Then we cut her open, spilling out her steam. He went back, for the truck, and I stayed with her in the night. Her body was astounding. If it weren't for the gun and the mountain she could not climb, we would not have been able to eat her. I questioned my Atheism. Was that a prayer? I don't know. I only knew that we were partaking in some part of nature's ritual. I wasn't speaking to her with words and I could not utter the words, "Thank you". It was something else. This was an agreement that could not be forsaken. We could not stop the hunt once the first shot had been fired and struck its mark. It would have been a worse sin to leave her bleeding to death. It would have been the greatest sin of all to take her life without making it part of us.

I thought of her when I painted this. I think of her often as I think of her now. Some part of her will always be part of me. 

Forgiveness is a myth.

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