SHADOW SCORPION
Memoirs of an Assassin
By White Wolf Von Atzingen
Copyright 2010 White Wolf Von Atzingen
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Printed copies of this book can be obtained from the author’s official website at http://www.waysofthewildinstitute.com
Chapter 1 - Dream Within A Journal
Chapter 9 - S.E.A.K.E (Survive, Evade, Acquire, Kill, Escape)
Chapter 11 - Torture Methodology
Chapter 12 - Blood, Breath, Nerves and Ritual
Chapter 15 - Assassination Within
Chapter 21 - Missions Begin (Asset Live)
Chapter 24 - Military Training
Chapter 29 - Crawl from the Demon’s Mouth
Chapter 30 - The Demon Wolf Genetics
Chapter 35 - Rebirth to the Sacred
From the very depth of all that I am, I would like to thank completely my wife, Paula, for her unconditional love and steadfast support through my many years of trying to find my way out of living hell. If she was not all that she is and if she were not by my side, I would have never survived to be here today. Always caring, waiting, loving and fully supporting me, she has been wife, my Soul Mate and an extraordinary life. To you, my love, I offer my deepest thankfulness and love eternally. Without you, I could never have found myself and all my fighting and struggles would have died with me in utter vain and defeat.
To my son, I am ever thankful for your love unconditional, your faith in me and the powerful lessons you have taught me. To watch you grow and reach for your own evolution is golden to my heart, to my soul. You are my crystal of perfection that nothing can separate or destroy. I am honored you have chosen to walk with me in this life.
To my family whom has suffered by the unknowns of my turmoil, for your part, I thank you deeply and forgive and embrace openly. You are all loved no matter what space or lifestyle may seem to separate us. I love and thank you all from the purity of my heart.
And to my friends, including those whom have directly assisted me upon my long and grueling healing path, I honor you. Each one of you is wonderful and a blessing in my life, shining stars that support me from so many unique perspectives. I thank you all.
Finally, to everyone who has ever assisted me in healing, believed in me, supported me, helped me, loved me, protected me, guided me, learned from me, taught me and made me smile, I thank each and every one of you for your energy and respect. May your path through life be free and pure.
I began writing this book at the start of winter. The season where we all go within our depths to stabilize our center and explore all facets of self. It is here that I began writing.
I finished writing in the autumn. The season of shedding all that we no longer need, all that we decide is no longer necessary, and stand to take responsibility for our actions and all that we are. A season of finishing loose ends so that we may turn over a new leaf and continue onward along our sacred path of evolution.
Thank you to all the individuals who prompted me to write this book. You know who you are.
The purpose of my writing this book is threefold. First and foremost- I wrote this book as a part of my healing and personal evolution within the context of my existence. I realized that no matter how much healing work I did or would do, until I could write out the story of my life that lead me to need healing, I would never be rid of it or able to completely transform it. I am a firm believer that to fully release something from one’s life with intent to heal, we must first remember as best as we can. Only in the memory can we find the wholeness of what must be released and only in that can we find actual transformation into balance. It is true that some areas may sound as if there is an air of attitude. The fact is, there probably is. I am still healing and have a long way to travel. I am by no means perfect, better or worse than anyone else. I could only write from my perspective and from where I am in life. I did not try to pretend in the many chapters to be something I’m not.
Secondly- I wrote this book to show people this small fact of reality within this world, to show the darkness that lies beneath the false light of what many call patriotism. I feel strongly that no one can truthfully call themselves “patriots” or pledge their allegiance to any country or organization until they can see all facets of what makes that organization function as it does. Too many follow blindly the ways of others who lie and engage in horrible things in the name of the organization. Those who follow blindly support those atrocities and know nothing of their reality.
Thirdly- The last reason I wrote this book is to give some hope to anyone who has fallen in life, to anyone who has found themselves in the darkest pits searching for a way out. Hopefully, this book may show hope to those individuals because it is about my own transformation. Within these pages are the details of my fall into hell on earth, my escape from it and my transformative healing that has lead me to where I am today. I am no more special than anyone else and if I can do it, so can you.
Some will find this book hard to read because of its content. Other will have become desensitized to the brutality and it will not affect them at all. Others may find that it resonates with them in some way or another. Yet others may find it hard to believe because they will not allow themselves to believe that the government is capable of such atrocities. In that case it is much like a child who was abused by parents and grows up in the illusion that their parents never abused them. It is difficult to accept that those who say they are there to help us end up doing quite the opposite. Truth be known that it matters not how many people believe the “truth” of a thing, since “truth” does not require that people believe it for it to be truth.
Let it be known that this book contains graphic details of the author’s life, both the beautiful and the brutal and may contain information that could “trigger” or disturb certain individuals.
In the pure truth of our primal spirit that flies upon the back of eternity, may we learn to embrace the neutral ground of balance. May the winds within the illusion of time lift us to heights so vast that we can’t help but to see the great pattern and our placement woven neatly in the threads of light. Let the victim and the oppressor merge together as one unit of balance where neither hold sway over the other.
Chapter 1 - Dream within a Journal
…“Exhaustion is the world in which I am now part of. How long has it been? Perhaps minutes, hours or maybe days…time does not move and time does not matter anymore. I have studied the room over and over, paying attention to details. White walls and white ceilings. No windows. Two doors only, one is over to my right by the far side of the mirrored wall and the other behind me to the left, florescent lights in a drop down ceiling, shiny stainless steel cabinets and a stainless steel counter that stretch the length of the far wall, white tile floors and a large mirror across from me that take up almost the entire wall. One desk to my left with a single chair and that is about it.
Consciousness is fleeting and a blessing at that. The slam of the door stirs my mind as much as it can be stirred in the place I am enveloped by. Heavy foot steps approach from the direction of the door. I wait. I can do nothing but wait, my only option.
“Are you ready to agree?” the soft voice asks, so soft it was eerily soothing.
I have no idea how much time passes before I find my voice to answer. It does not matter how long it takes because they are patient. Oh so patient. They make a spider in a web look anxious compared to the unmoving patience they possess. It is their world and all they do, so time has no meaning. Without time, patience is easy.
“Go fuck yourself! And when I get down I’m gonna tear your throat out!”
Another moment of silence lives and dies before I realize that those words I just heard came from my own mouth, my own voice. A small swell of remaining strength and defiance that I did not know I had made itself known.
My eyes open and even though the pain is intense, I stare at the man before me. Dead eyes stare back.
He says simply, “Yes I believe you would try and I do hope that you would. I can see it in you and this is very pleasing to me.“
Unmoved by my words he simply motions to the two other men. I know what is to come as it has been my reality now for I do not know how long. I can feel the adrenaline kick in once again as I begin to seek an escape. It is useless as my arms, strung above me are completely numb from lack of blood flow as I hang like a side of beef on a hook. My ankles still firmly bound. Naked and tortured, I am physically useless and cannot resist. I can slightly feel the electrodes on my body as though they are on something foreign that I am looking at from a distance, feet, and thighs, genitals, under arms, chest, neck and temples. Then it hits me again, searing electricity coursing through my body, muscles as taught at iron and screaming in agony. Fire running through my brain and so much pressure in my eyes I feel like they will surely explode, every minute part of my body wrenching in pure, violent agony. Froth spews out my mouth and all I can smell is burning hair. My groin is on fire, or it feels like it. Thought is slowed, broken, as the electricity interferes with that of my mind. Consciousness slips and all that remains is hell. Just as I feel I will leave my body the electricity stops and my body falls limp upon my upright bonds, hanging, almost lifeless.
“You let us know when you wish to agree.” the unnerving voice speaks softly into my right ear.
The door opens and through it I hear a child’s whimper. As excruciating as it is, I open my eyes to see a young girl cowering along the far wall in her nakedness. Three men follow her into the room.
That eerie voice whispers into my ear again, “You let us know when you wish to agree. It can all end. It is up to you. This girl’s fate is in your hands. All you need to do is agree and she will be safe. But if you let it begin then it will not end until it is finished.”
I fight inside to try and find the strength to speak but I cannot. The words will not come. The electricity raged through my body too many times to allow me the strength to speak. She begins to scream across the room and my face is held tight with my eyes pried open to watch…
“I jolt upright in bed! The room is dark as it is a moonless night. The thin sheets are plastered to my sweaty body in the oppressing summertime heat of the south, comforting in the one room cabin in the woods. Part of me is relieved to be here but part is anything but relaxed. My heart races and my breathing is rapid. I get up and walk to the door. Opening the door I slowly walk outside onto my front porch and stand naked in the steamy night air. The insects are so loud in their chorus down here in the pine grove. No houses for at least half a mile. A fox moves across the grove and I can hear his footfalls upon the soft pine needles. My mind races back to the dream. The same dream as before. The same dream…nothing in it was different and I could feel it in my body and mind that it was something much more then a dream. But how could it be something more? How could it be real? I have no recollection of such an event in my life. None the less it was here, again and even more powerful then the last. How could my mind imagine such a thing? And if dreams are all symbolic, what does this one symbolize?
Something nags from my depths. Dreams too real to be just dreams have been coming to me and haunting my nights for months now. Scars that I cannot remember where they came from…I have to get a hold of myself. I cannot live like this, hiding from my sleep, my dreams, those images and events that torment me deep in the night. What do they mean? I have been looking in the mirror lately and many times don’t recognize my own face. I see “me”, but who is “me”?
The insect chorus is interrupted by the loud hoot of the Great Horned Owl upon the ridge to the south. It echoes in the canyon and breaks my train of thought. I am back in focus on my porch. Oh how the night’s darkness is wonderful and protective. Hidden away deep in the hollow where the modern world has little touch. This is exactly why my wife and I chose to build our small one room cabin here in the country mountains of Tennessee. No electricity or road comes to our cabin. Safe and comforting it feels. But it also feels like I am hiding. From what am I hiding I cannot say. I could not even say for sure that I am hiding, but somewhere here in the darkness of the night it feels like I am hiding from something huge and all consuming.
My nerves have settled with the night air. My mind is calmer and I should now return to bed and join my wife in sleep. She sleeps so soundly wrapped in peace. What is a nighttime dream world of peace like? I would not know, for I have not had one in a very long time. Too long it has been and I am tired.”
As I finish reading I lay down my journal on the desk before me, the same journal I have been writing in for many years of my life. A dim light shines a warm glow on the raw wood surface and casts simple shadows upon the walls around me. The soft sounds of the night breezes outside my window caress the mountain trees, bare from autumn’s chill. Years I have worked through this, contemplating, remembering, running, hiding and healing as best I can. I have not read a word in this journal for a length of time I cannot recall. Now that the winter is once again descending quickly upon the deep mountains in which I now dwell, something stirs within me. Something shifts and calls out to my mind.
“To find the peace and embrace the deeper healings you must tell the tale of your life. You must read the journal here in the darkness of the coming winter. Shed the past by telling the past in the time of the present.”
So it is that I now find myself in front of my old journal, the same journal that I have almost burned time and time again, the same journal that I have hidden countless places and returned to reclaim.
My wife and son sleep in the other room, quietly and peacefully. The soft sound of the fire dances in my ears as the flames lick the white birch log. The decision is made. I am committed to the dark of this night and the dark wishes to hear the tale that lies within the pages on my desk. Ironic how such a life that I have led can sit so innocently within the harmless pages between the covers of a simple journal. It could easily be a children’s story sitting here, or a documentary of old farm life, but my heart knows better. My heart knows the story and every detail. I would have never had to write a word and I would have remembered it all. As a matter of fact, much of the connecting details or dialog I did not write at the time of occurrence or even within the same month. The information was written when I was in a position to write it. Some of the details I did not even recall with accuracy until years after they had happened. Even so, within the forgetting, a part of me always remembered. Some folks tell me things like it should be the easiest thing in the world to remember, and I have no clue what they mean because I have no memory left of it.
If it were to become something that would be read by others, it would not be for the faint of heart. What is contained within is a reality that is anything but light, anything but pleasant. Every word that lay sleeping between these covers is truth and a very dangerous, painful truth that the world does not wish to know. I cannot see how anything such as what is written here could be conceived of by a mind based upon fiction.
This journal is not about the complexities of international espionage, nor does it contain the view points of others. This journal was written by my own hand and contains my own experiences and mine alone. The experiences are written plainly and at times in graphic detail that only someone who has lived them could possibly, with any accuracy, document in word.
I shall now begin my tale of experiences here in the late hours. Telling it to release it and may the mountain night take it from me forever gone as I wish its possession no more.
Note: For privacy concerns the childhood section of this first chapter is based upon the energy and teachings within the author’s real childhood. This is the only portion of the author’s life that has been completely altered.
My name is Wolf Von Atzingen and I was raised in the deep mountains of the Rockies. My childhood was what I have always considered “normal”, but as I found out as years passed it was a bit different for modern times. To the rest of the world it was the 1970’s. In my world it was not at all the modern times. My home was tucked in the far back canyons of the Rocky Mountains and for half the year was inaccessible by any vehicle. Aspens and lodge pole pines surrounded the cabin. Grey jays would beg for food and red squirrels would yell for any reason they saw fit. Tracks of the Mountain Ghost would flow through the forest as it hunted the plentiful elk that lived in vast herds. The fox would make themselves seen as they playfully meandered across the grove’s edge searching for voles. The night would be as silent as could be with the exception of the high winds across the ridges and the creaking and popping of frozen trees and cabin walls. Occasionally the coyotes or wolves would sing their melodies to the night.
The winters were long and snows deep. Dug paths through many feet of powder trailed from the cabin to the wood piles. My days in the winters would simply consist of waking to a warm fire as my mother cooked breakfast and my father worked the wood that kept us alive. I played throughout the cabin and followed my father about as he worked all day in the winter drifts. I helped my mother with chores and cooking as well as helped my father drag wood and shovel snow. When we needed medicines or specific herbs that did not grow by the house, I would follow my parents on my snowshoes to the high ridges or the river’s edge to gather things like Wolfberry, bird’s nest, rock maple or rock tripe. Elk meat and mule deer were common at our table. Occasionally snowshoe hares would find their way to our plates along with dumplings. Oh, that was good on those cold nights!
I was very young but was very skilled with my aim. I could hit a running hare with a throwing stick and kill it. My father had already taught me how to use a knife and I was learning how to shoot with a bow.
Occasionally, our neighbor of two miles away came for the day and stayed for dinner, Windhawk. He was in his 50’s and had been living in those mountains his whole life, except when he went to Germany for the war. He was like a rock but as gentle and kind as the trees. Windhawk was partially of Native American decent. He said he was a mixture of Ute, Lenape and tad bit of Scandinavian. His ways, however were mostly Native American and 1700’s mountain man. He never spent the night no matter what the weather. After dinner he would always head home by foot. I never saw him drive or ride in anything. His only form of travel was his own two feet. He would sit at the table looking right through you with his narrowed eyes and a thin smile on his face. He never looked as though he was paying attention, but he always knew more about the conversation than I did.
My life was easy to me and I enjoyed it. During the warm times, the roads were open and we would journey into Leadville and many other places throughout the mountains. Once in a while we would take the long drive down into Denver or Boulder to see “culture”. My parents did not keep me ignorant to the world as it was. I was taught about the modern world even though my daily life was somewhat removed from it. They thought it very important that I learn the modern ways because I would be living with them or along side of them for the rest of my life. If I were going to make my way then I must be knowledgeable of many areas of life.
Being of German decent, my folks were traditional in the ways of their parents. But like many from the “Old World”, my parents did live more of a free lifestyle and the German traditions were simply dotted throughout the year as opposed to a daily way of life.
I was unaware at the time that many of the trips to the city and larger towns were scouting trips for my father. He was looking for work because the cabin life was too isolated and money was a hardship. I would be approaching school age soon and my parents wanted to get settled down in a solid place before I began. One day as we were in Boulder sitting by Boulder Creek off route 119, my father said he had found a job and we were going to have to move. I watched the creek swiftly flying by and crashing over the small falls. The ravens soared overhead off the cliffs behind me and the robins skillfully hunted for worms in the grasses. It was a wonderful warm day in the Colorado sun.
I asked my father where we would be moving to.
He said “Here in Boulder. We have found a house in the foothills.”
He told me we would go see it that afternoon. I was young and so the reality of leaving our cabin far off in the high mountains did not sink in. I did not have anything much to say. My mother said that I would be starting school soon and that the schools in Boulder were very good and they would be able to teach me a lot. She said they were far better than the ones way off in the mountains.
We moved the next spring and that fall I began school, nothing different than many other children’s lives in the United States. I did not much like school but I didn’t mind our new house. It was a cabin with electricity tucked in the foothills outside of Boulder. The creek was not too far of a walk down the canyon and I always enjoyed watching the fast, icy waters crash around the huge boulders that strewn the length of the canyon. I did miss Windhawk. I missed his presence and his gentle, knowing smile. When I thought of him I could feel the cabin and the mountains.
Half a year after moving to Boulder, my mother and father asked me to sit down on the porch in back of the cabin. They said they knew that I had missed Windhawk and wanted to talk with me about something important. I looked at them in wonder while the squirrels chattered in the yard over the pine nuts. Mother asked me if I would want to live with Windhawk from time to time because he had so much knowledge that he could teach me, knowledge that I would begin to learn by living in the high mountains but would be hard to study here with schedules and school. Father told me that these were ways that he felt I would need in my life and every man should know. Part of me, of course, was very excited to go back to the high mountains and see Windhawk again. Of course, I would also be sad to leave my parents for those lengths of time. My father continued to tell me that the great knowledge Windhawk carried from his many years of life was something that you could never find in schools of modern society. He said his ways were very old and if I chose to live and study with him, that I would find the meaning in what he says.
I was intrigued to say the least about what my father had just told me. I knew that Windhawk was different than any other individual that I have met so far in my life, but I really had no idea why or how. I could just sense it. He carried his energy differently than other individuals that I have come across. His energy moved differently. Deep in my heart I was very excited not only to see Windhawk again, but also to learn his ways deep in the mountains. I looked at my mother and asked her when I would be going.
She gently put her hand on my shoulder and with a smile she said “If you wish to go, we will bring you in the spring when the snows break.”
Just then, a large raven flew to the top of the Ponderosa Pine in the back of our yard. He let out a rasping call and seemed to be looking at me from his lofty perch. I stared back at him for somewhere in my mind I felt I could understand what he said. It was as if he were telling me that I had made the correct choice and that it was part of my path to learn from the old man deep in the faraway mountains. The raven looked pleased as he cocked his head this way and that. Seemingly satisfied that I understood what he had said, he took to flight and soared over the canyon walls to leave the yard quiet. I felt as though it would be a long winter of waiting.
I turned to my mother once more and asked her how long I would live with Windhawk. She said I would only live with them when school was not in session. We would leave in spring and they would come to pick me up before school started in the autumn. She said this would be the way we would work it for as many years as it was available to us.
Our old Ford pickup truck rolled slowly down the dirt road that wound sharply to the high mountains towards Windhawk’s cabin. Of course the road did not go to Windhawk’s cabin but ended 2 miles away. There were no roads that went to his cabin, only a foot path that was well worn from his many years of travel. It was a beautiful, sunny Rocky Mountain day with dirty old snow banks dotting the hillsides bleeding their crystal-clear water into the frothy rivers below. Though the sun was warm on my skin, the air was cool and brisk as it streamed off of the high country, still packed in the icy grip of winter now gone in the valleys.
A long ride in the pickup, of which I slept most of the way, was now at an end as the old truck slowly creaked to a stop in the dead-end circle. My father said that the old man was going to meet us here, but as I looked out the windshield, I did not see him. I looked at my father and asked when he was supposed to meet us. My father smiled knowingly. He motioned with his chin toward the old spruce tree.
He said, “Look carefully Wolf and you will see the old man.”
I scooted up on the large pickup truck seat and strained to see over the dashboard. I looked at the old spruce tree my father motioned to. I noticed its shape and the rocks strewn on the ground around it. I noticed the currant bush stretching out from the forest into the cleared parking circle. Just as I was about to say that I did not see the old man, I saw movement coming from behind the tree. And there I saw Windhawk gracefully walking out of the forest as sleek as a deer. I looked at my mother and was about to ask her if she saw him behind the tree, but she just smiled a knowing smile as if she were saying that I would learn.
The truck door creaked loudly as my father opened it and got out to greet the old man. My mother opened her door and I followed her out into the sunny day. The old man walked over to us with a big smile on his old weathered face. After speaking back and forth with my parents for a while, we all sat down and had something to eat. My mother opened a basket and took out some dried fruit and meat. We ate our lunch in silence listening to the wild sounds of the forest around us.
When we finished, I said my farewells to my parents. It was not as difficult as I had anticipated. I would miss them, yes, but the adventure that lay before me was so exciting that it seemed to take precedence over any feeling of loss or separation. I was so thrilled to be back in the high country that I almost forgot that I would not see my parents until the autumn.
The old man and I stood and watched as the old pickup truck slowly drove away down the long dirt road. When the sound of the tires could no longer be heard, he looked at me, and with a wink and a slight nod of his head he began to walk into the forest. All I had brought with me was a backpack on account my mother had told the old man would provide everything else that I would need. So, with my backpack on, I followed the old man’s tracks into the forest towards his cabin which was a two-mile walk. We walked in silence the whole way. But it was not silence for me as the forest was filled with familiar sounds of home. The songs and melodies of all life in the mountains filled my ears and the rich smells tantalized my nose. Our footsteps were quiet upon the path for we both wore moccasins. He seemed to be allowing me space to think, feel and adjust to my new surroundings. I knew he had deep wisdom to teach me, but I was content to walk in silence.
Before I knew it, the two-mile walk had ended and we were approaching his cabin. It was nestled in a ponderosa pine grove with the southern sun shining brightly upon its old timbers. I remembered my father saying that I had been to Windhawk’s cabin once before but I was too young to remember. My father also told me that the old man built this cabin with his own two hands and now that I stood looking at his cabin, I was amazed that one person could build such a thing of beauty.
To the west ran a small creek filled with smooth boulders and fresh clear water that was a direct melt from the permanent snowfields high above in the lofty peaks. There was a front porch that was covered with what looked like bark and boughs from trees. Between each log the space was packed with mud that had dried and looked like mortar. There was an old twisted bench made from the limbs of aspen trees sitting on the front porch. A wooden barrel sat on the porch’s edge filled with water and dried plants of various kinds hung underneath the porch roof. An old rock chimney jutted up from the peak of the roof. Many wood piles were stacked neatly with great care around the cabin. Current bushes dotted the landscape beneath towering ponderosa pines and many birds flew about in their daily business. The look and energy of this place was warm, comforting, and truly felt like home. I was happy to be here.
Old man walked up the front porch steps and gently pushed open the front door. I followed him inside the cabin and set my backpack near the door. The wooden floor was filled with elk hides and all the furniture was handmade from aspen wood. Hide throws and wool blankets were draped over the backs of the furniture and truly added a feel of Native energy to the cabin. Old candles melted into amazing shapes lined the shelves upon the walls and wooden containers sat upon various tables filled with things like dried sage, cedar bark, and pine needles. The large rock fireplace sat upon the eastern wall and atop was a huge wooden mantle that was made from ponderosa pine.
There were two rooms in the cabin, the main room which we were in, a small bedroom and a loft. Old man looked at me with gentle eyes and told me that I could stay in the loft. He said it was the best view in the cabin and the warmest of all the rooms, as if there were more than two rooms in the place. He carried my backpack up the wooden ladder to the loft which would be my bedroom for the length of my stay. When he came back down the ladder, he said that I should go up there and make myself at home while he fixed us a snack. The loft had a wooden aspen railing, a large elk hide on the floor and a small aspen pole framed bed with what looked like a feather mattress. There were smooth tanned elk hides and wool blankets for covers draped over the elaborate twisted headboard. A small table sat to the side of the bed with a large candle upon it.
I heard the front door open and the old man said me that when I was ready to come out on to the front porch. As I walked upon the porch, I went and took a seat next to him upon the large bench where he handed me some jerky, pine needle tea and a biscuit. It tasted really good since I was really hungry and it was familiar food since my parents made this kind of natural snack food quite a bit. Windhawk began to speak after we had finished eating in silence and enjoying the beauty before us.
He said to me “Wolf, you have chosen to come here and live with me for part of the year and learn the ways that I have to teach. I have lived in these mountains most of my life and they are as familiar to me as life itself. My father died when I was your age from the fever and my mother died a few winters later. So, I was raised by native folk whose ancestors lived in these mountains for many generations. They knew these mountains and their ways inside and out. These people became my family when I was young and they taught me everything they knew upon the earth in the ways I was taught as a child. I am going to teach you these ways, the ways of the mountains and the ways of natural life. You will learn how to hear the voices of the natural world. I will teach you how the land feeds us, shelters us, helps keep us strong and sings to our hearts. I will teach you about all our relations that share these mountains and of their ways. I will teach you how to hunt, track and find your way in day or night. You will learn how to camouflage yourself and hide. I will teach you the wild medicines that the land holds in a sacred way. Here in the mountains you will learn that you are never alone. In time, you will understand many things, sacred things.”
He stopped talking for a moment and he took a sip of his tea and smiled at the stellar jay who hopped about on the porch, begging for jerky.
He began again and said “I did not always live here in the mountains. A long time ago I went to the towns because I decided I wanted to know something different. Looking back at that time, I should have stayed here. But I was young and foolish in heart. It was during that time of my life that I went into the United States military because there was a great war. I do not know why they call it a great war because no war is great. This country sent me to Germany to fight the war. It was a very hard time in my life. I was there for a long time and saw many things that no man should have to see, very bad things. But while I was in the military and while I was in Germany fighting this war, I learned many importing things about conflict, combat, weapons and the ways of modern man. Along with teaching you about the ways of the land here in the mountains, I will also teach you those other ways so that you know. I feel it is important as does your father that you should know those ways because there are many areas of this world in this life that hold severe danger. This life is not all peace and beauty. As much peace and beauty as you can see, there exists an equal in the opposite. You must know this and understand it well. You have been surrounded by people with good hearts so far in your life, Wolf, but you must be wary like a wolf because not all people hold the balance in their spirits.”
Windhawk stood up and slowly walked down the steps of the porch and motioned for me to follow. As we walked through the ponderosa pine grove, he showed me how to walk quietly upon my toes and not hard on my heel like people do in the towns. He said this is the way you walk upon the earth that is most gentle and silent. Pointing to the forest beyond the grove, he said that life out here exists quietly, respectfully and in a sacred manner.
As we walked past a huge pine, there was a large sandy ant mound upon the ground with a big dent in the side. The old man gently squatted down and pointed to the dent. He looked at me and asked me if I knew what made the dent. I squatted down and looked more closely, but the sand was soft and so were the edges of the dent. I could not tell what made the depression.
The old man looked me in the eye and said one name, “Mountain Ghost”.
Now my father and mother had told me much about the Mountain Ghost, but I had never seen one. I had seen the remains of their kills and my parents always told me to keep a clear eye for the Mountain Ghost because I was much smaller than an elk.
And as the old man was looking into my eyes he said, “Never fear life. Never fear anything in life. To be afraid is a waste; it is like a disease that sucks life from the living. Fear comes from not knowing and thus the unknown. The cure for fear is knowledge. I will teach you not to be afraid and so, you will know and you will hold your power. But in holding one’s power it is essential to also hold balance.”
For the next few weeks the old man showed me the land and began to teach me how to identify the different plants, trees and natural pathways that existed in the mountains. I found it to be easier than I originally thought because my parents had begun to teach me these things. It was an area of study that I enjoyed very much. I was glad that I had come to the mountains to learn from Windhawk.
I awoke to the sound of rain upon the roof of the cabin. As I climbed down the wooden ladder, I could see the old man had breakfast waiting. Hot elk soup and biscuits awaited me. He said we were going on a small journey beginning today and we would only need to bring the clothes upon our backs. The land would supply us with all we would need. Before we left, we did stuff a few extra biscuits in our pockets and some jerky for our lunch. It was quite cool as we headed out into the drizzle and foggy mountain air. Old man said we were heading back woods to commune with the land. I did not exactly know what he meant by that, but I was excited nonetheless.
We walked swiftly and steadily, stopping only for him to point out a track or plant. We walked until mid afternoon. The rains stopped and the air had warmed slightly, but I could tell the night would be quite chilly. We had gained elevation and could now see down through canyons and far off valleys. Snow peaks jutted high off in the distant horizon. Old man said we were almost to the place we were heading. He looked at me and said it would be nice to have some rabbits for dinner to warm us from the inside. I told him that I fully agreed as my stomach was rumbling. He winked at me and said he had heard I was quite good with the throwing stick. I suddenly got a new burst of energy and excitement and quickly began looking around for the perfectly shaped and weighted stick.
While I was searching for the throwing stick, I came across the tracks of a rabbit, which did not surprise me. Rabbits were plentiful in these parts of the mountains. The old man gave me some sage and told me to come back when I was ready. My father and mother taught me the sacredness of the hunt and to show respect and honor to anything I was hunting. It was easy to find a rabbit since it was a cloudy day and they had a tendency to hop about during daylight hours when the light is dim.
I was over the small ridge from the old man when I saw the rabbit sitting beneath a lodge pole pine. Upon my moccasined toes, I slowly moved into throwing range. The ground was soft with pine needles and the dampness from rain so it was easy to be silent, like the Mountain Ghost. All of my focus was upon my every movement and that of the rabbit. Calm and patient just like my father taught me, I waited for the right moment to move the throwing stick into the correct position. Everything was so clear in my senses; the air in my nose, the chickadees flitting about the pine boughs, the swaying trees on the higher ridges and the sound of my own heart beating in my chest. The throwing stick left my hand and began spinning quickly towards my prey. The butt end of the stick struck perfectly and the rabbit lay motionless.
Very slowly and quietly, I approached the rabbit. When I arrived at its side, I gently knelt down upon the soft spruce needles, took the sage from my pocket and offered it to the rabbit for its life and gift to me and the old man. When my respects were paid I gathered the rabbit and my throwing stick and began to head back toward the area I had left the old man. Along the way, I found another rabbit. A true gift since one rabbit would have left us a bit hungry at night if it was all we had to eat. With the same patience and respect I took the second rabbit and carried them both to the old man.
Together we carefully and respectfully dressed them out and skinned them. We took the organs that we would eat and put them back inside the carcass. Then we stuffed the carcass with sage to preserve it for the rest of our walk. We put sage on the green side of the hides and rolled the hides up around the sage. Digging up a root from a lodge pole pine, we used it as a rope to tie the back legs of the rabbits together so they would be easier to carry. When this was all finished, we continued on our way towards our camp.
After about an hour of walking, we came to a small clearing by an aspen grove growing high in the mountains next to a clear fast running brook. The old man said this would be the site of our camp. He began teaching me how to build a debris shelter which was a shelter constructed of tree limbs and all of the tree litter upon the ground which included leaves, evergreen needles, dirt, moss, mud and rock. It did not take us long to build a debris shelter that would fit both of us. The insulation on top was 3 feet thick and the old man said it would not only keep us dry, but would also keep us very warm during the cold nights.
He then had me gather firewood, which I did eagerly to keep moving so I would stay warm as the temperature was dropping quickly in this high elevation. The old man gathered tinder from the inside of some dead aspen tree bark. Even though it had rained the night before and all morning, the inside of that bark was bone dry. As I was breaking the small tinder he was busting up the aspen bark into a fluffy nest which would catch the spark to light our fire. When the fire lay was ready he took out his long knife and a rock which he said was flint. With a glancing blow from the knife over the rock he created sparks which fell into the tinder nest. Quickly it began to smolder and the smoke began rising into the thin air like a ghost upon the wind. Gently blowing upon the coal in the tinder bundle, it grew in size and brightness until flames burst out. Carefully and slowly he placed the flaming bundle inside the fire lay. We watched then as the flames began to grow and rise through the many small branches that supplied it the essential food that would allow it to live and join us in the coming darkness.
Once the fire was blazing beautifully, the old man set up two “Y” branch sticks and connected them with a larger branch. Placing the rabbits side by side upon the cross branch and above the flames, the old man sat back against a tree and began to speak of the fire.
“Take a look at the fire. Watch how it moves, how it dances in the air and across wood like a ghost. The four main elements exist in life and they are fire, water, air and earth. The fire is the purest of them all. It cannot be tainted; it cannot be polluted in any way. It is pure energy and so is held in high respect for its abilities in the aspects of purification. Fire is not that much different than us. It must breathe, it must feed and it is always moving. Without the breath of air it would suffocate. Without food, to burn it would starve. And it has too much energy to remain still. Even a single flame upon the wick of a candle in a still room moves. Fire itself casts no shadow, because it is the light. Fire demands the utmost respect. It can be used to warm the home or burn it to the ground. Pay attention to the fire because your connection to it is strong. Pay attention to how it differs from the other elements.”
We sat in silence for a long time simply listening to the sounds around us in the coming night. We watched the death of the day, and the birth of the night that now consumed the sky with its darkness. Countless stars peered down upon us from places unknown, and hung like ice crystals from the top of the cave. The old man said that he was told they were the campfires of our ancestors burning always to remind us deep in the night that they are still with us and still guide us. As I sat with my back to the tree and the fire to my front, I began to grow tired. We bid farewell to the night and crawled into our shelter. Nesting down into the thick mound of dry leaves that served as my bed, I closed my eyes and quickly fell asleep to the sound of my own heart.
Over the next couple weeks the old man showed me many things of the ways of the mountains and of the wild. I began to easily identify, gather and prepare many wild foods that grew plentifully through the hills. I worked diligently on my tracking skills, which the old man said were growing in leaps and bounds. Near the end of the two weeks, I was able to light a fire using only flint and steel. We had moved around quite a bit, and so I also became very proficient at building debris shelters. The night temperatures dropped well below freezing and I still remained plenty warm while sleeping in shelters. On a few occasions, I had put too much leaf insulation in the shelter and awoke sweating. I would crawl out to cool off only to find the water upon the ground was frozen solid.
I learned how to dig up roots from specific trees and plants to make rope. I made a survival bow using the sinew from the back of a deer we had taken for food and the bough of a spruce. The old man stressed greatly the importance of utilizing every part of the animal when it was taken during the hunt. The sinew from the back, and the legs was clean and dried by the fire for future use as rope, and cordage. The hide was cleaned by a scraping method, and then rubbed down with the brains to tan it. We used to the water in the nearby stream for the soaking. The meat that we did not eat right away we cut into strips and hung over polls that we had positioned around our fire to dry. The stomach was turned inside out, cleaned, and dried for use as a water tight bag. The intestines, bladder and scrotum were cleaned out, and also dried for use as pouches. The heart and part of the liver, tongue and kidneys were eaten. The fat and suet were boiled down to make refined oil to treat our clothes. The bones were cracked and the marrow scraped out to put in soups and stews. Bone shards were used to make endpoints for our arrows. The organs that we did not consume we left out as an offering to all of our meat eating relations. We did not leave camp until every part of the deer had been utilized or secured for future use.
Telling direction, or at least finding my way, seemed to come very easily to me. However, the old man helped me refine my skills of telling actual directions by utilizing the shadows created by Sun and Moon, the position and movement of the stars, as well as the way the plants grew upon the land and the way the animals traveled. There was so much information that the old man began to share with me, I was at times overwhelmed and I knew that he had just begun. He was extremely patient with me and allowed me the space to learn at my own pace. He never rushed me while I was practicing my skills. He was a wonderful teacher and I was deeply thankful.
A skill that I found to be exceptionally fun to practice was the art of camouflage and stalking. The old man taught me how to move with the land so as to be unseen by any watching eyes. He taught me how the land breathed and so how to pace my breath with that of the land. He would always tell me to pay attention to every detail I crossed upon a stalk, because they were clues to what was ahead, what had happen and where I should travel.
“Move your mind into the land and the objects around you so that your thoughts are not detected by what you stalk. Blend your energies with your landscape so that you become invisible. Hide your scent, with the gifts of native plants, mud and smoke. Do not think yourself to be a hunter, but to be an observer, who is neutral in energy. Learn to see the energy of what you stalk so that you will know exactly who it is. If you can learn who it is, then you will know its mind, and therefore its patterns.” He would tell me these things over and over, not that I did not understand them but simply to keep me focused.
“Plants also have thought. Though their awareness is not like our own. The awareness of plants is more like a dream instead of a waking consciousness that we partially experience life with.” I asked him about the animals and he commented. “The animals belong to a group mind. This means that they have not yet realized their individual consciousness. Instead of thinking and acting upon their own individual thoughts, they act and react to the group consciousness of their species. It’s true that many animals have begun to realize their individual conscious mind, and are observed by us as acting differently than the rest of their species. Everything is in a state of personal evolution.”
I had an easy time with this. Throughout my childhood I was able to “see” things that were not in the physical, but existed in the non-physical reality of life. Windhawk told me that I was looking through the “vale” and into life beyond physical earth. “Multilayered”, is what he termed life. “If you are clear enough in your mind you can see what doesn’t present itself as the physical, but as a life in the non-physical realms. Not everyone is able to do this, and many who can are afraid of it. You must remember, young Wolf, that it isn’t something you should fear. Many who aren’t capable of doing this are jealous of those who can, because they understand the potential that goes along with it. Just make sure to look and not follow. To see what is beyond is nothing to fear, but to follow could lead you into the astral realms if you don‘t know what you‘re doing. In the astral realms, anything and everything exists, including horrible dangers.”
I found that this fit with my hesitation to enter certain houses or buildings because of the energies I felt. Since I was so open to feeling and seeing non-physical reality, I was able to sense those kinds of things wherever I was. Many buildings and houses were hosts for many ugly energies that I did not wish to be in the presence of.