I am not the wounded deer. I am not the hungry wolves. I am the great stag who has learned to survive and protect itself, through attacks from wolves and hunters. I have scars from the battles and large 10 point antlers. The smaller bucks and does who have not been hunted perceive that as weakness, pain, and fear.
I am the survivor who made it through.
I faced wolves and lived. I endured hunters and traps. I stand in the clearing at full height. I carry scars as proof of strength, not wounds. I have antlers grown from struggle, growth, and survival. I know the forest's dangers better than any "untouched" deer ever will.
That is not a symbol of weakness, that is a symbol of power earned.
And yet, when I share my story, my wisdom, they laugh. They roll their eyes. They say to stop exaggerating, lying. Stop being pessimistic, depressing. They tell me to heal.
All because I understand that life is not about which deer is saying what, or which deer's coat pattern is prettier, or which deer's habitat is nicer. Because I am not interested in mating with another deer who does not align with my wisdom, my life path, who has not faced the same adversity and not only survived but was strengthened from it. Because I am not interested in being a part of the herd, but standing apart from it and looking in, to watch over the herd as they graze and talk, never suspecting the wolves that constantly hunt them that I scare away with my antlers.
My experiences have taught me that there is more to life than that. There is deeper meaning, that the most beautiful flower is likely the deadliest and that the plain grass is the most nutritious.
And yet I look at these deer, who constantly judge, and smile. For they have never faced the cold breath of wolves behind them. They have never felt arrows hiss past their ribs. They have never had to grow antlers to live.
I more than accept the fact that they misunderstand my vigilance, that they misinterpret my scars. Happiness fills my chest when they misjudge my intensity, when they think my strength is "trauma", or my insight is "fear". That when I mark the boundaries and protect from the sidelines, I am defensive.
Relief and love fills my marrow because they are safe, and they have not had to go through the hard treks. Small deer cannot comprehend the perspective of a stag. They have never walked through blood-soaked snow. They have never stood alone in the moonlight, arrow-pierced heart bleeding steadily, and chosen to live.
My antlers represent authority, initiation, power earned, maturity, dominion (over my own life),
Small deer do not have antlers. They do not know the cost of growing them.
What they do not know is that I am not a victim. I am a king.
I understand the wolves and hunters because I have fought them. Not because I am one of them, but because I have been shaped against them. While the young does don wolf pelts and prance about pretending to be wolves.
Small deer can only imagine danger. I have lived it.
I am the guardian of the forest, the liminal gatekeeper between life and spirit.
I am the one who leads the herd, the one who walks between worlds.
Predators are real.
Hunters choose violence.
The darkness is indifferent.
The forest is unfair.
Survival was not a given, but a conquest.
And one day I will find my stag-mate, the one who shares in my gods-given authority. But until then, I stand alone, looking in from afar, and smile.
