The Search for Soaring Hawk

Chapter 2: The Vision Quest-5

When Small Hawk opened his eyes, the rain had stopped. He rolled onto his back and looked up into the sky. It was grey and cloudy. He sat up. A wave of dizziness swept over him. He felt he was going to be sick. Turning onto his hands and knees, he crawled to the edge of the circle. There he retched and coughed. Though his stomach contracted violently, nothing, save a brown, vile tasting liquid, came forth. Trembling fiercely, he sat back down. He was past the point of hunger, but his thirst was terrible. Why had he not thought to drink of the rain that had fallen so abundantly the night before? He lay on his stomach and licked the wet grass. As he did so, he felt something with his hand. It was the pouch the shaman had given him. Sitting up, he opened the deer hide. Inside, he found a handful of dried leaves. What was he supposed to do with these, he wondered. He brought the pouch to his nose and inhaled. They smelled sweet. The aroma made his mouth water.

Am I allowed to eat these? Is that why Rides the Wind gave them to me?

His hunger made him ignore any hesitancy, and he emptied the contents of the pouch into his hand and ate, licking his palm to be sure he got all he could. It tasted as sweet as it had smelled. He wished there were more.

Taking a deep breath, he rose and returned to the center of the circle. Sitting with his legs crossed, he made a concerted effort to let his mind go blank. This was the third day of the quest. Something, anything, had to happen. He could not stand the thought of failing.

As he sat, he began to feel strange. As he looked out across the meadow, the scene went in and out of focus. He squinted his eyes and shook his head. The meadow seemed to be undulating like the waves on a lake. The movement was making him feel sick again. He closed his eyes and bent his head forward. When he opened his eyes again, he was looking down at the space between his crossed legs. He could see his flaccid p***s resting over his sac. He reached down and petted it as if he were petting a dog. He smiled and giggled.

Something caught his eye. Looking closely, he saw a small beetle crawling in the triangle of grass created by his crossed legs and body. He giggled again.

“Hello, little bug,” he said, his speech slurred. “Are you my spirit guide?” He snickered.

“No, brother beetle is not your spirit guide,” said a voice from directly in front of him.

He looked up with a jerk of his head. There in front of him stood the hawk.

“I am your spirit guide,” it said.

“That has yet to be decided,” said another voice from off to his left. This one was deeper and more guttural.

Looking in the direction from which the second voice had come, Small Hawk saw a large black bear walking toward the circle.

“I am sorry, brother bear, but you see, you are outside the circle, and I am in it,” said the hawk.

“That can be altered,” said the bear. “The boy can invite me in.”

“Since I am in the circle,” the hawk retorted, “he has already invited me.”

Small Hawk’s head swiveled back and forth between the two as they engaged in their conversation. He realized he did not think it strange for him to be able to participate in the discourse.

He addressed them both. “Am I to have two spirit guides?”

“Are you of two spirits?” asked the bear. “For if you are, then you shall have two spirit guides, one to guide each spirit within you.”

Before Small Hawk could answer, the hawk said, loudly and firmly, “He is not of two spirits.”

“Very well,” the bear said, “but I still should be given consideration. Look at him. Hair covers his body and there will be more as he grows. He’ll need the guidance of a bear to know how to handle that part of his life.”

“That’s nonsense,” the hawk returned. “But it is his choice.” The hawk looked directly at Small Hawk and commanded, “Choose,”

The boy looked from one to the other of his two candidates for spirit guide. There was something that drew him to the bear, but in the end he said, “I choose the hawk.”

“Suit yourself,” said the bear with a growl. “But remember, there’s something within you that recognizes me.” He turned and lumbered into the forest.

Small Hawk watched him go and then turned to the hawk.

“Now that is settled,” said the bird. “Let us begin.”

The two sat and stared at each other for a time. Then Small Hawk said, “What am I supposed to do?”

“Anything or nothing,” it replied.

“That does not make sense. Rides The Wind told me I’m to learn about myself from you. How can I do that if I do nothing? And if I do just anything, without guidance, I still will not learn.”

Small Hawk was beginning to think maybe he had chosen the wrong guide. Maybe the bear would have been more helpful.

“Then ask me a question,” said the hawk.

“All right.” Small Hawk thought for a moment. “Will I grow to be a brave, marry and have children?”

“I cannot predict the future,” said the hawk. “I can only reveal what is inside you. I know you want to have someone in your life to love.”

Somewhat frustrated by this, Small Hawk thought again. What is it that I most want to know about myself? “You told the bear that I’m not of two spirits. Was that true?”

“You do not believe it is true? Do you think you are of two spirits: one man, one woman?” asked the bird.

“No, I don’t believe it’s true. I believe I am of one spirit,” said the boy.

“Then why did you ask me?”

Small Hawk snorted in dismay. This was getting him nowhere.

The hawk seemed to see his confusion. “Small Hawk, understand this. I am not separate from you. I am you.”

“What?” the boy said, more confused than before.

“I’m your inner self, in the form of a spirit guide. I reveal what you believe to be true of yourself. What I say to you is as you see yourself. That is how I help you learn who you are.”

Not sure he fully understood, Small Hawk shrugged and said, “Then what would you have me know about myself?”

“You are not of two spirits. But the one spirit that dwells within you is not as other men’s are.”

Small Hawk considered this. “You are saying I’m not like Lean Bear, but I’m not the same as other men either?”

“That is correct,” the bird said. He waited for a moment before continuing. “The spirit that dwells within you longs for love, but not the love of a woman. It longs to love and to be loved by a man. However, it does not want to be used by other men merely for their pleasure, but to share that pleasure as a man does with his wife. To be one with another man, as a man is with his wife.”

Small Hawk reflected on this. The revelation did not upset him since it seemed to be true. What he had seen of Lean Bear and the men of the village had aroused him, but had also disgusted him. Now he understood. It was not the acts themselves that offended him, but the manner in which they took place. Realizing this gave him a feeling of peace.

“Is such a life possible—a life where two men can love one another and be together as a man is with a woman?”

“I do not know the answer to that question,” the hawk said.

Again, Small Hawk pondered. And although it bothered him that there was no answer to the question about two men loving one another, he felt a peace knowing he was not a squaw inside a man, ikoueta, but a man, fully and completely.

“Can I know more about myself?” the boy asked.

“You have within you honesty, courage, kindness, love and loyalty. You are a man of strength.”

“All very well and good,” came another voice, “but let us make sure the boy knows the full story, shall we?”

Small Hawk turned and saw the bear had returned, although he was still outside the circle.

“A man can have but one spirit guide,” the hawk broke in.

“That is not altogether true,” the bear rejoined. “But, for now, have it your way. I will wait and, when the time is right, I will let the boy know what I can reveal about him.”

Once more the bear lumbered off into the forest.

“You really don’t want to hear what he has to say, do you?” said the hawk.

“I…I…don’t know,” Small Hawk answered.

“Well, it would be better for you not to know. My time is up. I will leave you now.”

“Wait,” Small Hawk cried out. “I want to know more about where I can find the love you have spoken of.”

“Remember,” said the hawk, “I can only let you see what is inside you. The answer to that is not within.”

With those words, the hawk rose into the air.

“But,” cried the boy, getting to his feet, “my name, and the token of which Rides the Wind spoke. When shall I receive these?”

The hawk did not answer. It flew off over the meadow.

Small Hawk watched until the bird was out of sight. He sank back down to his knees. He felt good about what the hawk had revealed. It answered so much of the turmoil that had been within him. Yet, it left him wondering how what he longed for would ever be possible. He wished he had received his name and a token to remind him of this day.

And then there was the bear. What part did he play in all of this?

For the rest of the day and into the night, Small Hawk sat and pondered these things. The clouds cleared and the stars came out. A warm wind blew over the meadow from the south. The night sounds began, the fireflies dotted the landscape and the deer shadows appeared from the trees. Small Hawk looked up and saw the silhouette of the hawk return to the nest. Was this his hawk? Or just a hawk? Another thing to ruminate on as he drifted off to sleep.