Religion is not about what is measureable , its about how a story can create a future and put our past into perspective. Its a theme, a narrative, its the reason we like fiction or a painting rather than a photo.
The first person to send men to the moon before NASA was Jewels Vern., anyway you get my point.
We do turn time on its head though the power of thought and imagination. Think about cause in effect.
What we Imagine is the cause of what we create. This is not in the realm of natural sciences. This is in the realm of the story, the myth. Its what keeps us alive and moving forward. The following is a story I wrote cobbled together from personal experience, condensed and placed back in time to recreate and re-enchant the world for myself and others. Yes its a myth , but weigh the truth in it for yourself.
The Hunters Heart
by Christopher Humphrey
In the dawn of prehistory, there was a story told by every father to every son for thousands of generations.
Before this time of record was the hunter’s story told to the hunter’s son. The only remnants of that story exists in a few cave paintings from that forgotten time. From this original archetypal myth a seed was planted to create our universal ideals of man’s place in the world today.
The following is a version of that legend.
It begins with an elderly man and his grandson observing a herd of buffalo in the valley below.
The grandfather comments that man has survived by hunting the buffalo. He explains how they follow a migratory pattern though the seasons that could be mapped across the land. Once this pattern is mapped, traps could be set, so the creatures own cycles become its venerability. But he warns his grandson, “As you follow these cycles you are making yourself vulnerable . Remember this well, you are also being observed, so someday a predator may be waiting for you along your well worn path.”
He continued on to say there existed in man a potentiality, an ultimate balance between knowledge of these movements of the earth, and a spontaneity of action in oneself. An awareness of the spirit.
Once this balance is achieved the hunter becomes the “ Scout ”
Scouts are no longer bound to cycles of the world, but of the spirit. If this state can be maintained the man would never die. Death itself the supreme predator would acknowledge that the man was no longer of the world but of the spirit, so death was not death, only another path.
The grandfather then spoke of the “Immortals,” that have achieved this balance long ago. A man’s familiar path would never cross the path of a Immortal Creature. The Scout’s may however, if his path was worthy . At this supreme moment in a scouts life the immortal creature would divulge the secret to the riddle of life.
The grandfather recounted he was a natural scout as a young man, therefore a very artful hunter, until that one day on a new game trail It happened.
A faint musical vibration from above, then the light…..
An alarming chill ran up and down his spine. He knew…
He was to have his encounter with an immortal creature.
Frozen like the rabbit. There she was on the trail….. “White Buffalo Woman.”
Old as the mountains and as bright as the new dawn. He reacted unexpectedly for such a seasoned scout. ….He fainted.
Dreaming,.. floating in a sea of pure love light.
A memory,.. an ancient dream surrounding all of life. How could he have missed this, so familiar, and yet,.. so forgotten.
Eyes opening now to see above the most beautiful creature imaginable.
Draped in white buckskins, glowing with a light of fierce nobility she spoke. “ Why are you sleeping in the middle of the day young scout ?” "I... I am not worthy of such light , such...pure... love. ”
The woman’s eyes like emerald jade smiling knowingly.
“Some day you will my son, but alas it is not this day.”
He then did wake up, cold, alone in the forest .
“I will be prepared when next we meet.” he vowed. “I will become worthy of that light!”
The grandson blinked his eyes. “ Did you become worthy grandfather ! did you have another chance?....“ I found love yes, and so did my daughter. How do you think you got here?” The old man laughed as he tussled his grandsons hair.
“But no, I never saw that perfect creature again” “I’m so sorry grandfather.” “ Don't be sorry, I understand now the riddle of life! Its in the art of the hunt that we find the best in ourselves, not the kill, nor the feast. That longing of what is possible drives us toward that one perfect path with heart.
Death will come to my body I know this. This light in my heart however.. This light will never be extinguished. What a gift! What a perfect gift....”
