Some stories have a sense of irony that can be understood by most.
There are other stories like the one I will share from Women Who Run with the Wolves that are generally ironic to many people, but piercingly ironic to me. I like those ones. They don’t make me sad or horrified. I don’t know why. My usual response is, “Ha.”
And since it’s almost Halloween, why not share a horrific story, right?
“So imagistically—be you a Black wolf, a Northern Gray, a Southern Red, or an Arctic White—you are the quintessential instinctual criatura. Although some might really prefer you behave yourself and not climb all over the furniture in joy or all over people in welcome, do it anyway. Some will draw back from you in fear or disgust. Your lover, however, will cherish this aspect of you—if he or she be the right lover for you.”
—Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D.
Wild creatures behave instinctually.
They react to the slightest movement of air, water, and earth.
They naturally do not trust when they sense something that threatens their safety, but otherwise they can be playful and determined.
This behavior is fascinating to unpack. What does it mean? We used to be wild, too.
Those who have been hurt badly may instinctively throw up walls to protect themselves, just like skittish wild creatures.
How can we get through the concern for safety to the playful and determined spirit that is so enjoyable about someone we love from afar?
“Where is she present? Where can you feel her, where can you find her? She walks the deserts, woods, oceans, cities, in the barrios, and in castles. She lives among queens, among campesinas, in the boardroom, in the factory, in the prison, in the mountain of solitude. She lives in the ghetto, at the university, and in the streets. She leaves footprints for us to try for size. She leaves footprints wherever there is one woman who is fertile soil.”