by Laura Dene McIntyre

I fought off a mountain lion yesterday. With rocks and sticks and my best girlfriend at my side, we fought it off together. It was creeping along behind us, slinking lithely as cats do, eavesdropping, curious, hungry.

With my feet stepping firmly on the forest floor, rain dripping from the cedar branches and from the tip of my nose, I was in my Temple. This is where I pray silently to the Universe, where I play on my days off and where I breathe peace.

The early March wind was softly gusting along the treetops, as usual.

Minutes before the cougar appeared, we had been speaking about reclaiming our stories as Our Own. I was overwhelmed with the understanding that I need truly to believe that I am the hero in my own life’s story, not the victim. Never the victim. My life is not happening to me; I am the one in charge, I am the one who controls how I feel, how I react, and only I can determine how life’s lessons impact me. Sandra and I were having this very discussion out loud, our shoulders relaxed with confidence as we trod along the earthy path.