the phagos blog

I got the idea for this story while listening to a song of the same name. I hope you enjoy.

Silence. Waking up slowly in the dark, the man felt the heartbeat of the earth, heard only his own heartbeat and the sound of his breath. He laid there for several minutes, completing his return into his body from the dream time where Great Spirit spoke to him. He opened his eyes, but there was only darkness. Slowly he sat up, and reached over to where he had set his clothes the night before. It was cool in his tent, and he became chilled while dressing. He crawled to the opening of the tent and stood up outside.

The morning air carried the scent and briskness of the coming fall. The fire from last night had faded to a few remaining embers, the glow showing the location of the old fire, but not much more. Looking up, he saw the stars shine, twinkling in the sky, and silently gave thanks. Wanting to warm himself a bit, he located the pile of firewood and selected some kindling and smaller pieces. When he looked to the east, he noticed the sky changing color slightly on the horizon, taking on a tinge of blue a few shades lighter than night, a harbinger of dawn to come.

He placed some dry grass on the remaining embers, then kindling, and finally the small pieces of wood on top of that. While the grass smoldered and caught fire, he retrieved a small blanket from his tent. He wrapped the blanket around him like a cape, using it to keep the chill air at bay. He sat and watched the fire creep along the edges of the kindling, until it caught the larger pieces on fire. The camp was silent except for the hissing and crackling of the fire, for he’d moved quietly to avoid waking the others.

He watched the fire dance as it hissed, popped, and even crackled now and then. He sat, mesmerized by the fire, watching only the luminous flames and listening to it speak. His mind was empty, perfectly still, and he existed only in the moment. Inside the fire he saw shapes, and watched them move about. He did not know if they were fire spirits or visions sent to him by the ancestors, nor did he care. It was enough to sit in front of the fire and watch.

In time he warmed up, and he became aware of sweat. He folded up the blanket, and as he did so, he noticed the sky was considerably lighter. Only a few of the brightest stars were still visible, and it would not be much longer before sunrise. He stood up and put the blanket in his tent, and grabbed a bundle. Returning to the fire, he opened the bundle. The wrap was a jacket, which he put on. It was leather, made from tanned deer hide, a light yellow brown color. It was fringed across the middle of the back, the middle of the chest, and down the outside of the sleeves. He had a heavier one from buffalo without the fringe, but that was for the coming cold months ahead.

He got up and took a drink of water from his skin, then set it down next to the tent opening. Gathering up a smaller, wrapped bundle, he walked off across the prairie. The sky was bright now, and the others would be getting up soon, if they weren’t up already. He followed the path he had made while the tribe had camped here, one that would take him out of sight and hearing, so that he could be alone. As he continued walking, the sky continued to brighten, until the sun was almost visible.

The path ended in a natural clearing. The prairie grass had chosen to leave this area untouched, and it formed a rough circle. He had found this as the tribe was looking for a place to camp, and taking it as a good sign, he let the tribe continue past the spot for a short distance before suggesting they stop. The elders had agreed, and so camp was setup. They would move again soon to their wintering grounds, but he was not concerned about that now. He set his bundle down in the middle of the circle. He knelt down and unrolled the bundle, and picked up the flute.

The flute was exquisite in its plainness. It was unadorned, made from a dark brown wood that had faded and acquired a light gray sheen, although the wood’s original color lurked below the surface. The wood was smooth, and use made it smoother still. He did not know what it was made from, and while he had his suspicions it was sumac, he could never really be sure. It had been given to him by his father, who had given it to him. The flute, as with all things, had its own history that he may never know.

Still kneeling, he brought the flute to his lips, positioned his fingers, and inhaled deeply. As he exhaled, the flute began to sing. He played the song of the morning, the beginning of his morning prayer. He played for the morning, for the winged people, the standing people, the stone people, the four-legged people, all the creatures that were listening. The song wasn’t fast, nor was it slow. Not mournful, nor happy, it sounded peaceful and serene, the way he felt when he let himself experience the nature of the sunrise. Moments passed, and he wondered as he always did, if he was playing the song or if the song was playing him. Knowing that it didn’t matter, he played the song until it was done.

Setting the flute down on the unrolled skin, he reached over and picked up his ceremonial spear. It was only three feet long, and not as thick as a normal spear. On one end was a proportionate sized spear point made of obsidian. Black leather wrapped the entire length of the spear, and dangling from one side were black feathers, tied by black leather, and several beads were strung onto each strand of leather. He grasped the spear in his right hand, the spear pointed forward, his hand behind the last leather tie.

He stood up, and the sun peaked over the horizon and began its slow ascent into the sky. He danced in the clearing, chanting while he danced, thanking Great Spirit for another day. He thanked Great Spirit for many things: blessings, challenges, that he had been born a human being, that he was alive another day, and that he had food to eat, a fire to keep warm, and a tribe that was his family. He danced to joy and sadness, to the cycle that was life, to the ancestors that had gone before and the young ones yet to come. The fringe on his jacket danced as he danced, the feathers shook and swung in rhythm with his steps, his long black hair swaying from side to side.

Time seemed to stop while he danced and chanted. He could see his ancestors at the edge of the circle, watching and dancing. The Great Spirit manifested more of its presence, the past and future merged into the present, and he could see far into both if he wanted. He had seen many summers on the earth, but he knew his life was but a moment in the life of the earth. All that mattered was that moment, the moment he lived in. The past and the future would take care of themselves.

When he had finished, the sun had cleared the horizon. He returned to the middle of the circle, and arranged his things on the skin, and rolled the bundle up. He was prepared to return to the camp, knowing that others would be up and the day well under way by now, and that he would be missed if he did not return soon. The old shaman said a word of thanks to the ancestors, to the sun and the earth, and set off towards the camp.

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