hare’s mask

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He arrived to me with blood still on him and smelling of death. I didn’t realize it at the time, having unenveloped bits strewn about still in their outer trappings stacking up for days.. but he was waiting for me all the same. Where had he come from, this little brown hare mask? I don’t exactly know. When I unwrapped him, I knew we were going to be in it for the long haul. I was instantly slapped with a feeling of sadness and I felt sick. I gently carried him back to the workroom and placed him on the altar. I stroked his little face, his ears, his whiskers.. all the while prepping for his cleansing. I worked with him for a very long time that day. I apologized for whatever it was that brought him to me.. his loss of life, his fear and his suffering. I fed him and we sat together. I told him he could stay or go, it was his choice now. He was always welcome to come back. I told him he was loved and it was time. I spoke to him of what his spirit meant to me and I cried. I am still working with him. Sometimes it is just a much harder go.

‘The hare runs into the fire. The hare runs into the fire. The fire, it takes her, she is not burned. The fire, it loves her, she is not burned. The hare runs into the fire. The fire, it loves her, she is free . . ‘

 – Terry Pratchett, I Shall Wear Midnight
(oddly, Walking Bear quotes this to me so often, i feel it’s my mantra)

 

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