White Buffalo

The herd comes... one hundred miles long and fifty miles wide, the oldest, strongest bulls always running on the outside.  The young bulls run just behind them, protecting the old women of the herd, who in-turn shield the mothers, and then the calves.  And at the very heart of the herd runs the white buffalo.

Back then, a white buffalo came once every 80 years or so, back when millions roamed freely across these lands.

(Now, white buffalo come every year.)

A river of bison, flooding across the land, migrating with the seasons, and each and every one of them dedicated to the protection of their collective young, the herd's future, their living legacy.

A young hunter stands atop a nearby hill, alone he has come to ask for a sacrifice for his family.

His horse is lame, his bow is broken, his arrows are all spent, and the chance of him feeding his family over the long winter have shrived into nothing.

Alone, the white buffalo turns and makes its way through the lines of defense, until it breaches the protective wall the elder males make.

They do not stop him.

Instead, they simply carry on, moving the herd to its winter feeding grounds.  Because each bull knows the dance between themselves and the hunters ensures ALL their children will survive.

The white buffalo walks up to the weary and desperate hunter and lowers its head.

Because the children are our duty to protect.

His sacrifice is no less and no more than the old males who run with the herd. 

And the hunter's valiance is no less, his need (the need of his family) no less important just because he can no longer keep up with the hunt.

Now is the time of the white buffalo.

The time of saving our children and reclaiming respect.


Raena Exe


Namaste

© Raena Exe 2024
*All rights reserved.

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