Cougar, by Molly Hunt

COUGAR

For decades we tracked each other,
allies, prayer-mates and honored opponents.
We each had paid our respects to the other in a variety of ways.
I won't share how this secret relationship began.
There were dreams you took me on Technicolor adventures.
In others were you were a calm strong companion by my side.
And in some you roared at me.
I would awaken with a fright.

Then we met at the top of a mountain pass at 4 AM,
you hissing threateningly, eyes glowing red in the dimness.
That time you introduced me to my primal animal nature.
I grew large, bared my teeth and displayed my fingernails turned into claws.
I heard my own fierce growl – a new emanation from my throat –
echo off the valleys on both sides.
Every cell in my slender body believed without doubt
that I could and would rip you to shreds should you attack.
You backed down from our face-off.
Thank you for bringing out my killer instinct,
the proper use of my own sword.

But now, cougar, I have a new kind of predator;
they have taken up residence within the body that faced down yours.
Micro-organisms are tricky adversaries.
They have been wrestling with me for my now-mangled sword.
I have not been able to wield it successfully.
Infiltrating my being,
they have even confused me as to who I am.
loved ones are sustaining injuries in the battle.
These microscopic attackers aren't like you,
they torture me in a long drawn-out process.

When you confronted me,
there was a simplicity about it. No animosity.
an age-old agreement between species.
I knew you were defending your young, or hungry.
I defended myself.
The way of this world.

But what motivates these tiny beings?
They won't face me squarely.
Their insidious methods are cruel.
Perhaps they are a bit lost and confused, like humans can be?
But I sense no interspecies connection, here.

Is there anything you can teach me now, my cougar mate?
Any of your relaxed strength you can transmit to me?
I am in great need.

Or do I need a new teacher now?
I saw a slow-motion film once
of you beating out your prey in the chase.
That rabbit knew when its time was up.
It turned belly up at the last moment,
offering itself to you, to the intrinsic order of things.
What beauty in that!
Has that time arrived for me?
Is it a rabbit teacher I need now?
If so, I'd like to surrender with such grace.
Then, will we all lie down together,
lion, lamb, rabbit and pathogens?
I always vaguely thought that sounded nice.
Now I'm not so sure.
And I still resist.

--Molly Hunt, August 2013

DONKEY

DONKEY

I stumbled upon a timeless communion with an aged donkey.

Already compromised by illness,
I sat on my wobbly three-legged camping stool.

We met eye to eye, transfixed and still.

Who knows how long we dwelled together

before I was obliged to pull myself away

and resume ordinary life.

 

Perhaps we are still there now.

 

How can I tell you what I beheld in the depthless black eye

of that white-haired fellow-being?

 

I found something more captivating than the night sky

in the deep wilderness

brilliantly dense with stars.

But it was so unassuming it could have easily been over-looked.

 

Imagine a fullness so complete

that it was larger than the universe itself,

All that ever was and will be,

burbling yet blissfully peaceful.

My life, yours

all the struggles and striving of us two-leggeds were at home.

 

Had that animal existed forever?

Witnessed everything?

Before the big bang,

before and after God?

 

I sometimes wonder what her unwavering eye saw in mine.

 

That elder donkey was approaching her immanent threshold

as naturally as she was shedding her coat for a season she would never know.

 

My illness seemingly progressing, I contemplate my own threshold.

I recall that episode,

so seamless and simple at the time.

 

But now I won't let it alone.

I grab for it.

I want it back.

I want to swim into that eye.

Or to be that absolute totality on four sturdy legs,

unconcerned about the future, the past,

without the desire for answers, without regrets.

 

Somehow the juicy eternity in that now-dimmed eye must be reachable,

though the eye itself no longer shines.

Can I find my way there?

Will it claim me?
 

--Molly Hunt, July 2013

This is a painting that my friend Charlotte Price painted in response to the poem above.  It is entitled, "Unburdened Beast."  Thank you Charlotte.  I love this companion dearly.  Anyone interested in learning more about Charlotte's artwork is welcome to email me.