Words from Women Who Run With the Wolves

For many modern women, it is not the driving about in the dark looking for the soulskin that is the most fearsome. rather it is the diving into the water, the actual return to home, and especially the actual leavetaking, that are far more formidable. Though women come back into themselves, draw on the sealskin, pat it closed and are ready to go, it is hard to go; really, really hard to cede, to hand over whatever we've been so busy with, and just leave.

"...one night
there's a heartbeat at the door.
Outside, a woman in the fog,
with hair of twigs and a dress of weed,
dripping green lake water.
She says 'I am you,
and I have traveled a long distance.
Come with me, there is something I must show you...'
She turns to go, her cloak falls open, Suddenly, golden light...everywhere, golden light..."

Follow the call, even when we've no idea of where to go, in what direction, or for how long. All we know is that like the child in the tale, we must sit up, get up and go see. So maybe we stumble around in the dark for a while trying to find what calls us, but because we have managed to not talk ourselves out of being summoned by the wild one, we invariably stumble over the soulskin. When we breathe up that soul-state, we automatically enter the feeling state of "This is right. I know what I need."

Women know, absolutely know, when they have stayed overlong in the world. They know when they are overdue for home. Their bodies are in the here and now, but their minds are far, far away.

They are dying for new life. They are panting for the sea. They are living just for the next month, just till this semester is past, cant wait till winter is finally over so they can feel alive again, just waiting for a mystically assigned date somewhere in the future when they will be free to do some wondrous thing. They think they will die if they don't ... you fill in the blank. And there is a quality of mourning to it all. There is angst. There is bereftness. There is wistfulness. There is longing. There is plucking at threats in one's skirt and staring long from windows. And it is not a temporary discomfort. It stays, and grows more and more intense over time.


Some women are afraid that those around them will not understand their need for return. And not all may. but the woman must understand this herself: When a woman goes home according to her own cycles, others around her are given their own individuation work, their own vital issues to deal with. Her return to home allows others growth and development too.

Somedays

Somedays aren't yours at all,
They come and go
As if they're someone else's days
They come and leave you behind someone else's face
And it's harsher than yours
And colder than yours

They come in all quiet
Sweep up and then they leave
And you don't hear a single floor board creak
They're so much stronger
Than the friends you try to keep
By your side

Downtown, Downtown
I'm not here, not anymore
I've gone away
Don't call me, don't write

Just a picture.

That's all.

Point blank.

I want travel. I want music. I want color.

I want love. I want inspiration.

Attention, please.

I feel I may starve unless something happens soon. I just might.

Odd. and happy.

Looking for comfort. Avoiding dull readings and rave reviews of these dull readings. Quietly stalking. Bubbling rice, chopping canned vegetables. Everything askew. Blankets in lofty, unkempt waves and yesterday's socks over there. I've been sitting here for hours doing little but entertaining my ego. And it feels nice.


oh
the wild one
she stirs
she snarls
she sits and waits.

Predicting tomorrow

I need more time to be quite and creative and aware. I need time to get back in touch and step away from the rigid, scheduled and anxiously meaningless actions I seem to be caught in.

A few nights ago I dreamed that I was in a broken down grade school somewhere in Africa. The children surrounded me, tugging at me. The colors were vivid, orange and green and yellow and brown. Tall women beckoned me to admire their handmade crafts. I held one between my fingers, fondling it and decided I would purchase it. But before I did so, I opened up my notepad and started to write about what was happening around me. I was taking notes.

I woke up confused, but delighted by the sensation left with me in my waking.

I went to class and my professor showed us this: win a trip

Perhaps I'm the only one who will ever think my dream was a push. But, I am applying, and just maybe I'll go.



"Dreams seem to take the material from the past, the present and the future. Almost as though the dream maker has no time-space relationship but rather can travel in any direction - pas,t present, or future."