Taboo

Most people go their whole lives not understanding the nature of power; how it flows, who it chooses, and upon whom it remains.  These matters were made clear to me upon meeting the greatest beast I've ever laid eyes upon.  It was a buffalo of monstrous proportion.  Each hoof was like the head of an axe wielded by giants.  Though it had never seen a day of farm work, every muscle, sinew, and tendon were like the scaffolding of a bridge uniting land masses separated by an otherwise impassable chasm.  It enjoyed a perimeter of a mile in every direction.  Elephants only drank after he had his fill from the river.  His horns were monoliths of pure destruction.  Should he be alarmed next to an oak tree, the sudden swing of his head would be the fall of it.  A sparrow could rest in one of the deep folds of his ancient and weighted brow.  No man can hunt him.  All that tried were converted to admiration.  I too was transfixed by his magnificent girth and potential wrath.  From a distance I wondered what possible womb could have borne such a marvel of space eating presence.  That is when he beckoned to me with a puff and lowered posture.  My mind raced at the prospect of possible agitation.  If this was a prelude to a charge, nothing would be left of me.  Certainly nothing fit for recognition or worth burying.  Mush would be my best hope with the success of any violent contact.  Yet the more I observed him in my panicked state, the more his crouch appeared to be a show of passivity.  So I approached with perfect trepidation.  To further my shock, he spoke as a man.  He has inquired about me in small detail.  He wanted to know my name and my country of origin.  So I indulged his curiosity.  In return I asked him how it was possible for him to commune with me.  I know it sounds crazy, but the bowed position he held seemed like obeisance, but the tale of our dimensionality ruined this intuition straight away.  He seemed to hint at a mystical beginning stating that just as oceans can hide monsters so to could the forest.  I made mention of my God to see if the conversation would break open.  While he did not affirm my faith, he asked me to sing a hymn.  It was my pleasure.  I sang nervously, messing up some of the middle part, but he got the gist.  Then we sang together.  It was astonishing that he only took one try to memorize the words.  Yet he fixed the parts I messed up.  Something was wrong.  He then sung it backward and invited me to do the same.  I refused on the basis of difficulty.  However, my genuine reservation arose from the fear of trespass.  He then asked about the paper I had in my pocket.  I had not told him I had a paper.  Maybe the bulge tipped him off.  That said, how much of a protrusion could one  sheet folded neatly into thirds make?  It was a letter of recommendation vouching for the quality work under my teacher's guidance.   Every  apprenticeship comes to an end and must amount to living.  The document contained both our signatures.  The buffalo asked why I did not sign the back, to which I answered that there was no print in the back.  All the content was on the front side.  He insisted that I sign the back so that he could witness the act of writing.  After all, he had hooves.  So I aimed to do as he asked.  Yet the buffalo added one stipulation.  Since it was the opposite side of the letter, I should use my left hand, whereas I signed the front with my right hand.  There was a sneaking unease throughout my body that accompanied his request.  I cited the same excuse as the first.  Perhaps I went to the well one too many times, because he stood up from his humbled position and insisted that I at least try.  I shook my left hand to feign injury.  My heart sank as I begged his pardon.  He did not give it to me.  My feet have a consciousness of their own.  They backed me up several steps before my mind was aware.  The buffalo made a motion as if he would follow, but could not.  Was he stuck in mud?  My legs would not allow me to abide any longer as I ran expecting the beast to give chase.  Every indication of the predicament and his face made it seem as if that were an inevitability.  Yet he stayed stuck.  That is when I realized he was bound by an invisible bulwark of sacrality.  Had I breached it, you would not have this correspondence.