SOLOMON
OUR NEHALEM MYTHS die with me, the last storyteller. Owl gives vision; my final student will be white female child of lost woman with red shoes. She, at last, is my final journey.
For a thousand years Manzanita was home of my family, my ancestors. When I soon go with my wife Ruby, there will never be another Nehalem in this valley. Our language, dust.
I raised my arms to morning heavens. “Great Grandfather,” I said loud to His blue sky. “Three weeks ago, You sent Grandmother Owl to perch on oak tree that shadows Theo’s home. She brings him her medicine, her teachings to see beyond shadows of fear and darkness, through to other side that promises light, happiness, and knowledge. She says if Theo wakes he will obtain her medicine, hear Raven again, and return to life where his true journeys wait. If he does not, he will be lost. Will You wake him from this slumber where he lives a half-life in cage built by his father and foolish hopes of his mother, and where his heart is broken in two?”
I dropped my arms to my sides. The sun rose waking the creatures of light, signaling to darkness it was time to rest. I stood on the crest soaring above the seashore; cold, raging winds slammed against the mountain’s flanks. My spirit power filled me. I saw fifty miles north, then south. Black Bear, Elk, and great Eagle woke in rustling leaves behind me. I closed my eyes, took in the salt smell of Mother Ocean, the squawking of her hungry birds. “Ts-ull-ULL-leel, Solomon.” My Ancient Ones said, “Ts-ull-ULL-leel.” The tide comes. They call me home.