(As told to Debra Denker by the Mountain Lion Spirit)
In Memory of Nicole Gladu, and in honor of National Mountain Lion Day
Hunger stalks the wind. These winds that do not stop burn my nose, and I cannot smell the scent of food, the scent of my children, the scent of my mate. These winds are harsh on my soft coat, howling in my ears in place of the roar of streams, the soft pattern of rain on leaves, the purring of my cubs.
My tongue is parched and dry, and I am hungry, restless, angry as I follow the deer running ahead of dark clouds of smoke, bright sparks of flame. The birds fall from the sky, but I cannot eat these charred morsels. My children run after me on their short legs, wanting to stop and play, and I cuff them in frustration. Now is not the time for play, no matter what it teaches. Now is the time for our survival.
Mother Earth, Father Sky, come together and make the rains return. Bring gentleness and soft green again to the land. Let the bright berries appear for our brother the bear to eat, make tender grass grow for the delicate deer that are so beautiful to look upon when we are not hungry, and are the sustenance of our lives. Let the trees sprout fresh leaves in which to hide, and in which my children may play and climb. Let not the harshness of the roaring in the skies like thunder that brings no rain, or the roaring of strange animals upon the land, uprooting trees, crushing out scents of prey, hurt my delicate ears. Let me teach my children the old ways.
Children, cubs should be free to play. There should be food for me to bring you, and long baths with my loving tongue while you purr contentedly to sleep. We should not live in fear of the humans hunting us. We do not want their herds of deer with cotton coats. We do not want their small morsels of loud crowing birds. Far better the wild deer, pride and wariness in her eyes. Far better the game of skill and balance we need to stalk and catch the deer. Far better to be lazy in the branches of trees when our hunger is filled, watching the deer sip gently at the stream. Far better for us to play, sleep in peace, teach the ways of our people to the young, while the deer teach their ways, the bears teach theirs, the foxes and flying birds teach theirs.
My purr is silenced now with sorrow. My eyes are confused by smoke and dust, my ears distracted by the sound of roaring that comes from the throat of no animal, my keen nose uncertain of direction and hope.
I see into the hearts of the humans, and all are not black and silent. Some seek to speak with us. Some seek to silence the roars of their machines, and reach with their minds. Some seek to douse the fires in forests and meadows, and call the clouds that bring back life-giving rains. Some seek to pull the poison from the waters, to silence the winds that come from too much anger and fear. Some seek, with us, with brother and sister bear, fox, wolf, mouse, insect, fish, snake and eagle, to bring balance back to the Earth, to the home we share.
We will purr again under a bright sun in a lake-blue sky, and under soft rains and in gray mists, we will purr again listening to the uninterrupted roar of the waterfall and dance of the stream. We will sniff the air and again taste the scents that teach us of survival and balance. We will again play in rocks and trees, and the mate I seek will find me. Another generation will be born, in hope, as I watch my cubs grow and stretch their limbs, walking proudly into distant forests and rock-hills to find their own place. There we will room enough, again, for the Mountain Lion people. Our soft cries will ring in mountain circles, and our purrs will gladden the Mother’s heart.
I wrote The Cougar’s Lament in 2004 at the request of my late dear friend, teacher, and Cree Medicine Woman Nicole Gladu. Nicole had conceived of a theatrical production called Mother Earth’s Last Council Fire, which she envisioned initially in school settings, and perhaps later for the general public. She asked me to write from the Mountain Lion’s point of view because of my long and deep connection with them and their spirits.
I have never seen a mountain lion in the wild, but had visited some rescued cougars at a wildlife sanctuary near Los Angeles decades ago.
Since I don’t have any photographs of mountain lions I am illustrating this with photos of drums with depictions of this magnificent and powerful being. I’m spending time sitting with images of these beautiful big cats while making art with colored pencils and watercolors because I’d rather make art imperfectly with my hands, heart, and both sides of my brain than outsource my creativity to AI.
Debra Denker is the author of Weather Menders, a cli-fi time travel novel for the hopeful.
Weather Menders 