Bison

Sometimes the power we most fear is actually our own. Discover how shamanic practice and “Bison medicine” helped transform a lifelong anxiety into a source of bullish clarity, fierce boundaries, and the courage to move forward—one hoof in front of the other.

Enjoy this 6-minute read or listen to the audio recording here.

When I was a child, I was terrified of loud noises. My earliest memory is one of peering anxiously between the slats of my crib as the trash truck went by. When there were storms, I would hide under the wood slab kitchen table, sensing something dark and massive, and ask with concern, “Does Thunder have a tail?”

My unadulterated child’s instinct knew that what frightened me was an entity – not simply static charges in the clouds, but a being with form and intent. It wasn’t until I began exploring shamanic studies and dream work in my 20’s that I became acquainted with the idea of the Guardian of the Threshold, and of spirit guides who often first reveal themselves in menacing forms. These beings that terrify us often appear to challenge or liberate – inviting us to reclaim and refine our power through them.

I first met Bison early in my autoimmune diagnosis when doing parts work around the inner parent. He appeared in my imagination – broad and sturdy – in constant movement across the plains; never rushed, but never deterred despite blazing sun or deep snow drifts. I would walk alongside him, leaning up against him for support, and slowly began to understand the strength needed to keep moving even when the obstacles feel insurmountable. From him, I learned the value of choosing a direction, without needing to know where it leads, and simply putting one hoof in front of the other.

A couple of years later, I took an online shamanic training from a practitioner who owned a bison ranch outside Calgary. Shamanic tradition teaches that we inhabit the middle world, but can also visit the upper and lower worlds to work with our guides and to give and receive healing. Following a shaft of light up into the clouds, I saw a darkening and heard a familiar rumble. I remembered my anxious childhood question: “Does Thunder have a tail?” And there was Bison. I felt a flood of emotion knowing he had been with me my whole life. And I recognized the truth that sometimes what we most fear is actually our own power, or at the least the power available to us when we accept the archetypal forces of nature into our lives.

Bison understands what it means to navigate a wide open plain. Everything may look the same in all directions, but he does not need to see beyond the horizon. He simply keeps moving – grazing, fertilizing. When the rain thunders down, he simply stands and gets drenched. When snows howl through, he simply swings his massive head from side to side, shoveling however many feet are required to reach the grass beneath. And when the wolves come, he knows how to circle up and keep the young ones safe in the center.

Bison stands at my back, nudging me forward with steady determination in whatever direction I’ve chosen. His bulk guards and defends me against unexpected claws and fangs. His earthy groundedness reminds me there’s no hurry so long as we stay engaged, that loyal endurance is what matters more than fiery bursts of inspiration. And when he needs to defend what is his, he will. He will snort and stomp, lock horns and smash skulls if that’s what it takes.

The power of his will – to move, to defend – is what positions him in my solar plexus. He is the courage and grit I need to maintain my core as I move through the world. He is the foundation on which the compassion and insight of my heart must rest to not be deluded or exploited. He is the rumble, the growl of determination, the immoveable solidity of certainty.

Earlier this year, I was feeling the need for a powerful masculine ally – a father-figure to balance the more feminine strength of Lioness. I was facing challenges at work and in a new relationship that were causing doubts and anxieties beyond my capacity. I needed a more fiery fierceness beyond simply enduring or holding steady with compassion.

Soon after, I had a powerful dream. I’ve often had frightening dreams about some massive, dark, malevolent force in a basement that I’m inexplicably drawn towards, but never see. Once again, I was compelled down a flight of dilapidated stairs and saw at the bottom a figure – a menacing man with a muscular chest and the head of an ox. I wanted to turn and run, but knew there was no escape. I stretched my hands out in front of me with a conviction in my own power. An invisible energy like blue-white electricity shot from my palms and flattened him.

After taming his power, Bison came to live within me, not just as a supportive presence, but as a power that can infuse every cell of my body. I can feel the huff of his breath, the heft of his horns, his broad chest as my own. With him, I’m better able not just to endure, but to embody the bullish clarity and assertiveness needed to move projects forward and proclaim who I am in relationship, what I’m willing to compromise and what I will fight for.

Nancy

I offer this piece as a birthday gift for my friend, Renee, who’s been encouraging me to write about my Guardians and has been a fierce ally on the road of recovery.