Deep in the heart of the jungle, a wizened Indian sat by the smoking fire and gazed at the red-lit face of the young apprentice opposite him.
“Breathe in deeply of the air of the jungle” he whispered as the young man closed his eyes.
“But I can't see anything!” the young man's tremulous words spilled out. His shoulders were taut and his hands tightly clenched.
“Relax – and breathe with the beat of the jungle, listen to the life of the fire,”
His apprentice's shoulders deliberately dropped and his face lost the lines of care as he relaxed. His hair twitched in the silent breeze and the old man waited, smiling. The young man started to breathe a little harder and beads of sweat broke out on his forehead.
“I'm afraid...” he started to say, his voice seeming to come from a long way away. “I can hear a great thumping noise and it's coming towards me!”
“Greet it eagerly, my son.”
“But...”. Then the young man relaxed. A smile started to creep along his mouth. “It's the eldest of the land, master -one of the tall ones, long in leg, large in body and with eyes bright with ancient wisdom.!”
“Is he looking at you, my son?”
“Yes, and his trunk is curling around my shoulders.”
The old man stood up and placed a gentle hand on top of the dark, black hair of his apprentice.
“The Elephant spirit has accepted you – be proud, for he is long of memory and full of wisdom. Let him guide you and make a totem for him to always link you to him.”
The young man left the clearing and returned to his village. There, after many days, he chose a special piece of wood from an ancient acacia tree and started to carve. He carved a wide bracelet to fit on his young arm and the Elephant was pleased.
In the fullness of time, the spirit urged him on to pass the wisdom to another and he journeyed long to the large Town and the Elephant guided him to a tourist – a stranger in his land. Without a word, he passed the bangle on and its journey thereafter became a mystery, known only to the shaman's totem spirit. Eventually it came to this country where it was worn with pride, its wisdom seeping slowly into the bones of its owner.
The old man smiled – nothing is forgotten, nothing is ever forgotten.
Slán
Silverwolf
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