SILENCING THE LAMBS

 

My grandfather was a government trapper for the State of California. He interlaced my childhood years with his colorful stories of trapping coyotes in the sheep country of Northern California. I would listen, mesmerized hour after hour, usually gathered around a dining table after one of my grandmother’s amazing meals made from whatever she could discover in the cupboards. That is how meals were invented then, with what ingredients were available. Grandpa had an amazing meter to his words, not as an educated poet, but as a spellbinding storyteller. As he sat with the smoke from his cigarette encircling his bald head, he spun his tales of nature from his own firsthand experiences. I would visualize the ruthless coyotes’ vicious teeth exhibited through their snarling curled lips as they circled the herds of sheep. They would swiftly pull down a lamb or a ewe defending her young, and tear at its nose until the sheep would lie defenseless and dying in the dirt. Once the nasty task was accomplished, the wolf-like wild dog would walk away, not even touching the meat of its dying prey. In essence, the sheep were invisible to the dogs. It was merely a game wild dogs would play, a silencing of the lambs, a game not worthy of an animal playing its part in the natural food chain. And, that is why my grandfather was a government-employed trapper. Sheep ranchers could have their herds decimated by these ruthless coyotes. For the sheep, it was very much a “life sucks” terror, and they did always end up dying.  Tough being a sheep.

Humans, too, are interesting creatures. Sometimes it would seem that they play the part of the coyote. Individuals with whom I am familiar do not tear the noses off of other human beings, nevertheless, they rip and tear at their victim’s self-esteem, destroying the person’s spirit, dissolving and changing who they are, until they lie crushed, and often dead in spirit. Another memory, a few years following the vivid stories of my grandfather, pounds in my ears like the constant beating of my pulsating tinnitus.  It is of a young boy attending seventh grade. One would imagine him to be like any other boy his age with two arms, legs, hair, two eyes, you know, the general appearance of normalcy. Yet, other coyote kids his age saw him as a weakened lamb. They would circle. They would taunt and tear at his self-esteem, calling him a sissy, making cutting remarks about his clothes, his actions; destroying with words. Like the sharp teeth of the wild dogs of the prairie, words, too, can slash and tear.

 Amazingly, some adolescent children seemingly carry the genes of wild dogs. They will go so far as to physically push, pull and strike another young human until their nose bleeds, and their coat is torn. These injuries heal. The torn spirit does not heal as easily. It most definitely is a life defining moment. It is a life sucks and then you want to die horrendous moment. Haunted by a ravaged spirit, often these sheep stagger through life with the terror of past secrets. No one wants to ever admit that they were youthful victims of insensitive and unfeeling packs of coyotes. They just want to belong. In defense, they either dissolve into the shadows of the past, becoming invisible, or they become obnoxious in order to defend their shredded spirits. Some have the spirit of survival, while others do eventually give up, shrinking into invisibility. It is though Harry Potter’s Invisibility Cloak was permanently thrown over them. They just disappear for all intents and purposes. The stronger coyotes survive to tear at yet another victim. Not all coyotes are adolescent. Perhaps, it would be easier to be a sheep than a human.

It is never easy to rid a soul of sharp words once shot into one’s heart and mind like piercing arrows. That pain echoes inside as a forever reminder of the person’s uselessness. There is one, however, who would tend the sheep and protect them from ravenous wolves. He who heals all wounds will eventually encircle the sheep, much like the wild dogs, but with a different result in mind. Life’s experiences happen, and they can suck, and we will all die, but perhaps being aware of others can aid in the mending of ravaged souls. Perhaps then, the Cloak of Invisibility can be lifted to reveal the potential that was always there, totally unaware to the coldblooded coyotes.