Daily Archives: March 29, 2017

Considering White-Skunk II…

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Winged creatures are almost universally regarded as symbols of spirituality.

Is there any evidence to regard them as such in this tale?

Bald-Eagle has fire.

Meadow-Lark has far sight.

Rice-Bird can play dead.

Not a bad ‘trawl’.

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On his way back to the lodge to re-instate ‘natural law’, Bald-Eagle creates a valley with his wings.

This valley alerts Skunk to Bald-Eagle’s cognisance of his ruse.

It is tempting to regard the rest of the action of the story as taking place within this ‘wing-formed’ valley.

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The sight which greets Skunk on his return to the lodge is not a happy one.

Does Skunk show any remorse for the actions which have led to this unhappy state?

He does not.

He thinks only of revenge.

He thus reinforces and perpetuates the consequences of his original error.

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The ‘reflection trick’ played by Bald-Eagle and the Plover sisters on Skunk may further emphasise their spiritual nature and Skunk’s now inevitable distance from that ideal.

His subsequent attempt to ‘storm the ramparts of heaven’ lead only to a further loss of status and also the loss of his, potentially, one and only saving grace.

Skunk’s musk-sac, caught in the current of the river, drifts off downstream without him.

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Tipping the scales

Shamanic Paths

Field mouse (Found on Pinterest)

I hadn’t really thought it through properly, had I?

It has been a long, hard battle; over twelve years and counting; to control the problem. No, not mice – the cats!

When we moved into this house, whilst aware that the property had lain empty for over two years, we never imagined that, in that time, the local cat population would have, in our garden, established a de-facto latrine.

We were completely unprepared for the daily visit from every Moggie within prowling distance. Their right to befoul the entire area was never in doubt, in their minds at least. The derision with which they treated any human daring to enter their domain was, in equal measure, both frustrating and funny. Finding their little, fetid “presents” snuggled amongst the plants, underfoot, sprayed in your face, as the lawnmower picked up a fresh one, was…

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