Clawed from memory
is my family history,
a branch
                 gone feral.

Many generations ago, my fraternal ancestors were ban jhakri who migrated from Nepal to the Barguzin Mountains near Lake Baikal. My maternal side is descended from Turko-Mongolian shamans, the last of daughter of which was named, "Aura-who-rings-the-clouds."

This is how she met her husband. As neophyte shaman, one evening she had just entered a light trance, lying latent ready to pounce within the comfort of our material sleep, in the bestial violence of insight, the prowling animal of progressive hallucinogenic trances, signifying a slow rebirth of the neophyte who first must suffer a symbolic death, after months of severe deprivation... (S)he then must be reborn from the bones, from imagination, the raw insides of words which, finally, insist upon the lack of innocence, when she heard something crashing through the brush. There, at the edge of the forest, stood a small handsome man, naked and covered with sleek black hair. It was--an old family pun--love at first rite.

He took her through the darkening woods to his cave.
In the morning he discovered she had a small scar
on her face, an "earthly imperfection," and threw
her back into the world. Still he remained her
spiritual guide, and the father of their
Bigfoot daughter.