THE BLEEDING TREE: chapter II
Literary Fiction
“The world is made of feathers and fangs.”
—Chayenawa
Before the blood flows past my lips I smell it. The subtle sweet scent of peeled oranges sticks inside my nose. Am I starving or does it actually smell that good? The blood, thick as honey, coats my teeth and greets my tongue with the taste of bitter chocolate. It’s still warm and seems to pull flavors out of my tongue rather than give them.
Slithering down my throat it coats my heart and arrives snuggling into my stomach. I tilt my head back and I chug the rest. I reach out for more but the hat-man tenses his brow, shakes his head, and takes my cup away. Eager faces around the fire watch me with anticipation. Is it poison? Is something going to happen to me? How quickly? Maybe I shouldn’t want more.
Children break out of their parent’s grip and come to observe me and the effect of the blood. Though they are part of the tribe they don’t seem to know what’s going to happen. I sit in patience, feeling no effect. I chose this path, yet it feels like it couldn’t have been any other way. Nothing’s happening. Wait. Quaking ripples through my stomach. I like the feeling: a soothing fullness. My whole body buzzes like a giant bee. Humming massages my bones. Old doubts attach themselves to new questions that flood my mind: What’s happening? Was it safe to consume? Where is this taking me? Am I ready for this?
I lift my hand and notice it’s vibrating so fast that my skin has a fuzzy appearance. I’ve never examined my body so closely. With fresh eyes it all seems so strange. Fingernails are weird. A fever frenzy fills me. The chaotic energy loosens my grip on physical reality. I glow inside. Everyone around me begins to melt into the environment: skin turns into leaves, hair to vines, and the rest become one with the trees. Some try to reach out to me with words, but their voices fade along with their bodies. Afternoon light descends on me and all I can interpret is myself.
My movements are slower than I want them to be, waving my leg out in front of me it turns into three. In the form of silver light three versions of myself walk out into the darkness. One of us moves ahead of time, one is present in time, and the other is stuck retreating into the past. Future me fights the past while present me watches. The wrestling and punching are labored and slow but effective. Neither yields to the other and the three versions of myself return to my body, and I know we are all connected. Aiding me is a greater understanding, as if a voiceless voice is bringing me information, I know that I can’t enter the future while my past fights against it.
My cheeks rise into a smile I cannot stop. Only my mom could make me smile this wide. A cool tear runs down my cheek, and for the first time since waking my brain feels calm. A clarity cleans my being. Thoughts of brilliance slip into my mind, thoughts I didn’t earn, thoughts I’ll never keep and never grasp again. I mourn them and the voiceless genius keeps speaking to me. Hundreds of complicated ideas fly into the web of my mind then slip through its slippery strings. I can’t preserve a thought even though the information is valuable and beautiful—they are as elusive as travelling shadows. I relax and trust that whatever’s important will be retained. The voiceless voice tells me I’d go insane if I wanted to hold onto all of the coordinated knowledge. I’d split into millions of dividing fragments with no way of maintaining a cohesive grasp on one unified reality. I was only meant to understand that there are infinite possibilities.
Something smooth strokes my ankles. Out of the corner of my eye I notice three small serpents, one yellow, one blue, and one red slithering past me and expanding in size as they gain distance. Where did they come from? I feel colder. Reaching to pull my blanket tighter I notice it’s gone. They came from my blanket. The snakes slither in perfect circles keeping a safe distance between each other. They wait for my attention then dart into a center point. Their heads converge and collide, their bodies writhe and wrestle like conflicting thoughts. Fangs. Fangs. Fangs. Bound together in a biting frenzy their individual forms get lost in the mass of seething scales. Before my eyes can make sense of the magical transition the snakes become a blue songbird whose feathers shine and sparkle with shades of cool green. It’s the prettiest bird I’ve ever seen.
Long legs, proud chest, smart eyes. The innocent tune it sings contrasts the combativeness of the snakes. The song repeats its rhythms and tones but I can’t sing it back even though I’ve heard it multiple times. It’s trying to tell me something. Something important. Just when I feel I am almost able to harmonize with the bird it flies up to the tree whose blood I drank from earlier. The tree glows, red, blue, then yellow. The bird disappears into a hole in the trunk and the butterfly leaves take off and engulf me. The tornado of legs and wings pattering my body tickles my skin and blocks my vision. Dark and light images take turns assaulting my eyes. When they lift off my body I am standing alone in a dark and endless landscape.
Small silver hills bubble up underneath my feet. They say my name. I struggle to keep my balance while they expand and contract. Finally, the blistering land settles and I flatten my footing. Golden hairs of grass sprout from and cover the entire surface. They grow knee high and wave in the wind, caressing my legs from every direction. Thick patches of daisies bloom out of a music I cannot hear but know is there underneath the surface. They peek their heads above the grass, each claiming its own place of importance.
Growth stops. Music stops. I listen for more. My ear catches a nearby rhythm. I focus on its placement below the thick bed of turf. The earth pulses. I watch in wonder. The ground splits open and an infant tree shoots out. I test its flexibility by bending it to the ground and letting go. It springs back into place swaying back and forth in the cheerful breeze. Another launches up beside it, and another. I spin around following the sprouting trees as they pop up around me growing rapidly and trailing the growth of the one born before it. All tall now, and surrounding me, they stretch out their thick curvy branches. Small and shiny undergrowth spreads among the tree trunks crowding the young jungle with dense life.
Above the trees my eyes lock onto a single star winking in the sky absent of all other light. It trembles and explodes sending waves of color clashing against each other like rival kings fighting for a queen. The beautiful light blinds me. I look down. It shines and shimmers on the sea of grass enclosed in the ring of trees. A moment of peace fills the life inside the living dream, until a hidden menace makes a noise in the trees.
My instincts converge on one spot in the treeline and my gaze meets a glowing pair of eyes. Neither blink. Launching onto a sideways tree branch I glimpse the silhouette of a black panther. Terror seizes me. Where did it go? It reappears digging its razor claws into bark and ripping off pieces without concern. My eye level lowers to the level of the flowers. I assume I’ve squatted instinctually but realize I have transformed into a deer. Instability swarms my blood and embeds in my muscles. They quake with weakness. I feel trapped and helpless as if there is nothing I can do to survive. No plan. No exit.
My fear leaps into the neighboring tree limbs with the panther. Tree after tree I see the panther fly through branches with superior leg muscles that laugh at the need for wings. It glides and I force my uncooperative legs to face it, unable to remove my concern from its powerful presence. As he circles me, deconstructing my power, I know he’s taking it for his own. I stumble over my awkward legs and take my eyes off him for one second. A limb snaps. His body dives to the earth like a predatory raindrop. I hear a suppressed thud as he contacts the ground. His silky fur reflects the overwhelming light of the artistic atmosphere above then he vanishes into the glade like a shark. My eyes bolt back and forth desperate to locate his position in the grass, the grass that used to be my friend. An unthinking burst of energy possesses my body and I take off running. My clumsy hooves trip me before I learn to prance. The grass tenses with the same necessity that engages my muscles. As I run my vision exits my body and lifts into the sky. Looking down I watch myself evade the blitzing panther. I study in safety and amazement the sacred partnership of predator and prey as they dance within the ancient circle of order. Watching them brings new meaning to the definition of balance in my mind.
The deer glows white as it evades the slim black hunter in the golden flowered meadow. The voiceless voice informs me that I am not just the deer, but the panther as well. I am predator and prey. All my life I have responded to life as prey without knowing what it’s like to be in command. It shows me that the threshold between becoming the killer or the killed is but a slim choice. Upon digesting this wisdom I am lowered back down into my deer form having to make life and death decisions from an unfamiliar position. Unaware of the panther’s location I leap toward the surrounding jungle, but my movement forward ceases and a dull weight yanks me back. I lay helpless on my side and register the pain of claws. My back legs feel a brief shockwave of intense stinging before soft tingling calms my nerves and I enter a state of numb awareness.
My unfeeling, unresponsive body is dragged into the center of the field. I am free of pain? My suspicion is confirmed by the voiceless voice telling me that nature has designed a shutoff switch for all prey animals that are caught and consumed by a greater threat. Immobile, at the mercy of a fiercer set of instincts, my thinking mind surrenders. I am caught. This is not sad but necessary to sustain life. The panther stops in the middle of the field and rips into me. Digging. Scraping. Separating flesh. I thank the Creator who numbed my pain on purpose. Their merciful design has removed the torturous terror of the moment of my slaughter. My deer body enters the panther’s abdomen and my awareness passes into its killer consciousness. I am the panther. I am the killer. I have always been the deer. Now it’s my turn to hunt. I surrender the rest of my heart. The panther takes it. It is not wrong. There is no need to forgive the hunter. No need to forgive myself for not overcoming inescapable odds.
“These are the two sides of an integrated whole, two sides of a complete and natural spirit,” says the voiceless voice. I say, “I wish I had become the panther sooner instead of playing the role of prey all my life.” Anger swells in me until it reaches boiling rage. I use my powerful jaws to pull off and consume the remaining mounds of flesh. I lick the bones clean knowing the importance of each drop of nourishment. They shine like pearls in the light of the psychedelic night. I step back and watch the bones fracture. The cracks emit rays of white from within, the light turns into flames, and the land consumes the skeleton taking back its child of the wild. I feel no troubling emotion. Morality is no longer my concern. The matter is finished and I question nothing. I see the order in it all, the planning, the purpose. Everything is connected to the primary cycle of life and death. Nothing really ends. I belong to both extremes.
I walk my dense body away from the scene in rhythmic strides. My muscles are strong, my hunger satisfied. Upon reaching the edge of the glade my human form exits the panther. The big cat turns and looks at me with no aggression, and I know not to fear. The look is calm and content. It blinks with self assurance sitting on its back legs with pride. I bow without needing to know why. It turns its head and directs me into the jungle. I follow without resistance.
He takes me beyond the jungle and ocean glade to a wasteland of horrific deaths. The black land is scattered with souls doomed to die for all eternity. The crawling, climbing, creeping creatures are starved and lonely. Their blistered bodies call out for me in hoarse voices as if thirsty for, yet strangled by, life. I turn to go back to the protection of the trees but the panther steps on my foot forcing me to gaze into the valley of everlasting death.
The red glow of the setting sun spews blood onto the land drowning the bodies. The voiceless voice tells me I can restore the balance of this land. How? I turn back to the jungle, hearing its rhythms, and realize this wasteland of infinite and pointless deaths has no music. The silence drains my soul. The panther nods and shares his mind with me, “This land has lost its music,” His voice tranquilizes fear, uncertainty, and doubt. “Restore the song,” he says. I think of refusing his wish.
“It seems too grand and important for someone like me,” I say. He bares his teeth, positions himself between the jungle’s edge and myself, encouraging me to face the catastrophe, and walks into the jungle’s undergrowth. Knowing I am free to leave and free to choose, I stay. My disgust for the creatures turns into pity and I accept the responsibility.
Wild winds pick up around me. Strong gusts push and pull. I can’t resist the urge to fall backwards. I collapse. Falling, falling, falling, but I don’t land on my back. I keep going, through the earth, through the timelessness of life. I feel my stomach shift with the sickness of freefall. I close my eyes and feel a thud, and when I open them I am back on my seat around the fire where I drank from the cup of blood.
I shake my head, touch my nose, and rub my blanketed arms to confirm reality. I never left my seat, the journey was all in my head. The blood. The ritual. How long was I in that dream? Hunger anchors my thoughts. My body. My body is mine. The sensations belong to me. My body is awake like never before. I realize I have been detached from it my entire life, like the dying deer, always prey, always numb. Now I have passed through the realm of the hunter and I am changed, forever. I have shed the skin of my old self. The world is less threatening. I promise to never abandon myself again. A new sense of security fills my deprived soul. No one has the ability to take from me now. I am complete. I am me. I am free.
The hat-man smiles watching me become aware of myself. He grabs my shoulders and shakes me acknowledging the journey back to myself. He seems proud, closer than before, clearer, more alive and more real. I can’t help but stare at his enhanced image: the wrinkles in his skin, the scars on his hands, the grace in his eyes. The blood’s effect dwindles. The voiceless voice fades telling me the hat-man knows what I’ve been through.
He crouches to me and speaks, and I understand him.
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