The Little Death & The Mountain Climber

Hi everyone, been a while. I'd say sorry but really, it is what it is. I've been talking to a friend online who's been going through a hard time (send him some healing compassion if you're into that), a tough life very similar to many of my own experiences. I've been doing my best to be there for him and offer as much support as possible; if nothing more than an empathetic soul to talk to, and offer a glimmer of kinship in the darkness of loneliness. But I moved too quickly and opened up too far (ok I admit it's probably because I like him, and I like him because he's going through so much of what I went through, but he's also kind, genuine, contemplative and loves the wilderness; I feel like there's so much we can and do share...) I allowed myself to become too vulnerable, and released too much emotion that wasn't healed yet. I had been practicing meditation pretty regularly, and after the emotional extravaganza, something stirred inside me during dreamtime, made aware by the meditation. From some external source a spirit worker appeared behind me. I recognized their energy, and they said they have always been there helping me along, but never directly. They wouldn't say why they were never in my awareness, like Wolf Spirit has been. They said I moved too fast in my dealings with my friend, and I released too much emotion, including emotion that wasn't healed. Apparently they'd been currently working on helping me to do so but in my interactions I 'ran down the hill too fast' so the good, bad and the ugly came alive. I started feeling physically ill (not bad, just noticeably more tired and weak.) In a later meditation the emotional energy really came alive and burst out of my body, somewhere between the traditional locations for the solar plexus and naval chakra locations. The imagery was bloody and full of gore. Of course my spirit lingered in the pain of unhealthily birthing un-transmuted negative emotion while it took the form of some bloody humanoid monster running around in my own darkness. I could feel the same medicine man behind me, watching, allowing me to make the next move. I recalled my own beast, forcibly in the end, and in my weakness I acknowledged it, accepted it, and reclaimed it inasmuch as was needed to bring it back within myself to finish the transmutation process. The medicine man took me and I fell into his arms; he transported us to a quiet forest full of darkness where he laid me in a hole in the earth, my abdomen still opened from the inside-out, exposed to spirit, bleeding everywhere. He indicated the breech was so great that I needed an extreme healing as fast as possible, and covered me with loose earth. It was fragrant and moist, like new soil for a garden. But I knew what we were doing in this garden of death, and Earth Mother began her healing on me right away. I could no longer see the shaman who always hid in the shadows, only showing himself in my awareness when he needed to intervene due to my missteps, but he whispered to my conscious mind, "You will rest now, until all is healed." And I knew I would not be doing any spirit journeying for some time as Earth Mother took me within her, absorbing the turmoil from myself and transmuting it.
I stayed in this state for a few weeks, and only recently started noticing my spiritual fortitude returning. Of course Wolf Spirit was there when I awoke and crawled from my grave, waiting for a different me. And although I cannot see him, I know the shaman is there, helping me finish that work and regain my strength, so that I can take the next steps in learning. And I've already started a new path, as any path after a death [no matter how small] is a new one. I am beginning to truly embody the Toltec Wisdom that reality is just another dream, and I am loosing [or loosening] my former attachments to so much of my anxieties, discovering my center and how to stay balanced there. I saw myself looking back in the direction of where I've come from and I was high up on a mountain whose heart was pure Spirit, and I can no longer see the trailhead of my childhood. It reminded me of the time I spent on dragon-spirit mountain, where once I got to the top, one of the great Dragons shared with me his Pearl of Wisdom; though my conscious mind struggles to remember what it was (a pity), though I am certain my soul remembers. And just because we do not have a vision in our mind's eye, or words to physically describe, does no mean spirit or soul are any less real. I look ahead and realize there is still infinity in front of me though, so I must keep walking...

Teachings of the Wolf, Gifts of the Mockingjay: Part 2.

Last night I went to the theatre and saw the last of the Hunger Games, and I could not help but reflect on its story. I revere Suzanne Collins for her work; cunning, strategizing, empathetic, reflective and sympathetic to our experience. She gave words and a story to our time; to my time: A flawless rendition of our acts towards each other, our triumphs and our follies of today. But I digress (and rightfully so.) It moved me many times to tears as I saw the districts oppressed, and the people who had been given the precious gift of leadership abuse it, directing its power and influence from their shadows which had consumed them, not to build up a community, but to tear one down in vengeance. I asked myself how many of them had to suffer on one side or the other, so that a few may rise above the rest? Perhaps you cannot see the districts in your own life because they are across the Atlantic, or south beyond a vast desert that you don't care to visit. After all, isn't life much more exciting in the Capitol; so much to do and see, why bother with thousands of kilometers of sand and dust? Although I am at times as guilty as any, I also see the faces of refugees from the other districts and listen to their tales: Iranians who want the freedom to be able to worship without threat, Iraqi families who want safety from the bombs that rained upon them, Afghan parents who want their children to sleep in a bed away from the rubble we gave them, the tax of the Capitol on their district. Rebels and innocent alike have paid and will continue to pay the oil tax for the Capitol; some give their lives, and others their souls, driven to hatred and anger.

As irresponsible as children, too smart for their own good, lacking the temperance of wisdom to know the cost the districts pay to support the Capitol, is too high. They want what they want. Never realizing that the gift of Leadership is always a two-edged sword: On one blade is the power of authority, the other responsibility. The greater the authority, the sharper the responsibility.

I see their faces, the refugees from foreign places, they are the ones who ultimately pay the price so that we may maintain our high-rise societies and our suburban communities intended to shelter and protect us from the forces of nature that in truth dwell within ourselves. To what end? We subjugate, betray and bleed others to protect us from ourselves. So the lesson of Wolf is complicated and nuanced.

Before we can lead we must be balanced. We must weigh the price of progress against the true cost of blood and if we would not bleed ourselves for the cause, to force another is to negate all benefit. A sacrifice must be willing and for the greater good. Wielding authority and responsibility is effective only in balance, but in fear and anger, responsibility will run us through, and doing nothing invites authority to open the stream of blood. The path to balancing our light and shadow sides is compassion.

Only when we teach ourselves compassion and are gifted with the sword of Leadership, can we wield it with either edge to build communities instead of tearing down. And in building up others, we build our selves.

This is the message of Father Wolf. He used a powerful dream, coupled with Suzanne Collins's powerful words to teach the nuances of leadership, their potential benefits, pitfalls and responsibilities. All that we choose is an action with some reaction; thoughts and deeds rippling through space and time. The ripples carry our names into the eternities, and if we watch very carefully, with balanced authority and responsibility, we can make ripples that change our world [and beyond] for the better. This is the teaching of Wolf Spirit, and of Leadership. Perhaps I am beginning to hear the calling of my soul… I will remain unattached, but will heed it’s voice if it beckons me to continue down the path.

Teachings of the Wolf, Gifts of the Mockingjay: Part 1.

 I dreamt last night: Father Wolf took the form of a man and held me as I slept. He whispered softly in my ear, "Let me hold you, show you how to love yourself, and support you until you are strong enough to love you as much as you need." He sat behind me and held me next to a fire under a moonless sky; the stars ablaze as his embrace tightened to the point that I could not move. It was extraordinarily comfortable and I fell asleep a second time, in his arms. I dreamt within that dream, that I was with others like me: Learning to balance the power that had been given us whilst not even realizing what that power was. We were all disciples of Wolf Spirit. Sitting around a campfire, some could change into the full body of the wolf, others perhaps only a wolf head. And others still, myself included, enjoyed a place between: not quite man and not quite wolf, modeling our form after our own mythologies, allowing just enough wildness to emerge yet just enough restraint to not be completely taken. Taken where, I did not know, just that it was far enough on some spectrum of existence to understand I'd be completely erased.

Our games of shapeshifting were interrupted by the noises of wild beasts. The memory of my dream within this dream fades, but through the fog I remember seeing clearly in the dawn: An enormous pack, hundreds strong, of bestial wolves, with our wild souls awakened, we sensed in them no restraint, completely given to some wildness no longer their own but not wholly unlike our own; they consumed whatever they could catch and whatever stood in their way. Slaves to some strange force of ravenous destruction. We kept our distance from their hoard lest they consume us too.

The message became clear and I embodied the wisdom in that lesson, that within me, and perhaps you too, there truly are two kinds of wolves: The gray wolf of balance; teacher, healer, leader, defender and soul-warrior. And shadow wolf; the destroyer, consumer, savage and indiscriminate annihilator. The difference is thus: gray wolf is gray because he is neither black nor white but balanced between the two spectrums. Should he bring forth his shadow-side, however, without great care he can be consumed [by his own shadow] and become an agent of the primordial forces of chaos and destruction. He is not evil, he merely looses his grip and falls into something that is not his nature; it possesses him, and by its very nature overcomes him and he may well be destroyed in the process, creating shadow wolf. Nothing more than a shell for the forces of destruction. I should take a moment and mention White Wolf; some may say he is a third wolf, but from the perspective I have gained, white wolf is only a transient stage of gray wolf in which he looks back towards the source, the spark, the fire from whence he was first imagined to gain a disembodied glimpse of the world around him. It reflects and reminds him that the same fire dwells in all beings, and he suspends his ego from controlling him. Should he truly become white wolf, he would become simultaneously everything at once and cease to be wolf at all. I therefore see white wolf as transient.

One might ask how this lesson is relevant or even practical in the world today, where we no longer feel the need to respect sacred wildness, revere untamed beauty, or practice good stewardship of the natural world; of our true nature. After all, is not the goal of our high-rise societies and our suburban communities intended to shelter and protect us from those destructive forces? I offer a warning before an explanation of the lesson's application: The wild forces of nature we have attempted to tame are part of us, we cannot hide it nor suppress it. And for me, there is no amount of paint, nor beats in a measure, nor words from all our languages that can express the sovereignty and supremacy of unadulterated wilderness; its arcane reiteration, my very soul. To truly understand this gift, I look to the Mockingjay...

(Please continue to part 2...)

Encounters With the Gods: An Artist's Conundrum.

Okay, so I don't what Hawk is doing; I see him following me around, but no visits in dreamtime like Wolf always has. And yet I feel something changing in me: I have had this irresistible desire to be with the gods, and I've been doing research about them. I also really wanted to [randomly] paint/draw this weekend. So why not draw the gods? So I sat down and got out my stuffs but I just couldn't figure out how to do it. I realized that although I love the mythology and imagery, I just can't get behind the anthropomorphizing of the gods. The god of wind is not some dude floating about casting air about the planet. He/she is air, and how do you draw air, much less the spirit of air? I get it, that's why we do anthropomorphize them, but what if there's another way? Thinking of something abstract... (except Cernunnos who always seems to be changing, but often shows himself as a man - and I mean, damn, what a beautiful man..., if not equally as often as something else.)

In the meantime, these questions have really changed my relationship with the gods very quickly. They feel so much more powerful now, and the parts of myself that they represent are opening to their influence more and more. Take for example my incessant mind-chatter: if air and the God is related to the mind and thoughts, then what causes unstable air? It literally comes from imbalances across the landscape; from mountains and deserts to oceans and forest fires. So the lesson there was that all my other elements need to be really careful to stay balanced to help my mind learn quiescence. A specific instance was that I needed to lower (remove) the sentinel mountains erected for self-protection; erode them into fertile soil so that they would not force the air element up into creating storms and provide for more self love/acceptance (hence the soil) to be cultivated.

So I've realized that even though anthropomorphizing the gods has it's uses, I decided I'm an Animist by nature, and there is evidence to support that that was more dominant in ancient societies than a dogmatic system like classical Greece or Rome. In Japan we have the Shinto religion which is still very animist, and I read that the ancient celts were most likely animist in their own spirituality before anthropomorphizing their gods and goddesses in response to those concepts being introduced into their societies over the years.

Maybe Hawk was just helping me open my inner gates to the gods, working behind the scenes until they had a foothold and really began their work in me. I feel wolf coming on strong again too; gonna need some wild-time very soon. With the waning moon it will probably be shadow wolf too (or as I sometimes call it, potential wolf.)

Although ever-grateful, hawk, you still owe me some dreamtime flying lessons...

Strange Beginnings; Maybe?

I had been sick for a few days, and a few months ago started a new job, so I've been way out of touch with myself. The last couple days I've really been buckling down to practice more meditation, and to more deeply realize myself. It seems father wolf is backing down, for how long, who knows? Bad timing for me starting this blog... but we'll deal with it. Good and bad are relative. He said it's time for me to let hawk spirit in with his message(s) and to focus on that for the time being.

As I really begin to let go of my identity, I should say my attachment to my identity, it becomes ever more clear that I am not acting from a place of truth; I'm not being myself. But I've done this my whole life, and I don't know who I am, or even where to start looking. In Plotkin's Soulcraft, he believes this is the norm for Western Society due to our lack of ritual, reverence, and/or community support for our children to grow from adolescence into adults. We do not revere or even seem to care for the idea of self discovery and every one must fit into the same mold of producer/consumer/economic stimulator.

I feel myself calling for an inner death, but my ego won't let go; there must be something to replace it. But what? I've been operating under the assumption that if I just start being what ever it is I'm supposed to be, that the old will just let go and die on its own. Now that I'm writing it out it sounds pretty naive. I did write in my poem that he had to trust in death and in his own rebirth. Perhaps the best road (maybe even the only road forward at this point) is to do just that. Maybe I'm not supposed to know yet.

I was contemplating this whole condition yesterday whilst driving back to work from running errands, and wondered if hawk was supposed to be visiting me with messages/guidance on this very subject. I hadn't even finished the thought when a very large bird flew past my truck heading the same direction adjacent to the offramp I was on. And yes, it was a hawk. I took it as a sign, I did ask for those...

So last night I wholeheartedly practiced meditation and the quiescence of the mind in hopes that hawk would visit me. I called the 7 directions and invited all the ancestors, gods, goddesses and nature spirits that would help. I waited for hawk but I never met him there. Perhaps the timing is poor. I admit I'm a bit distraught by the whole thing, but it was only one night. Maybe I'm still preparing myself, and I must continue with the hope that when ready, I'll receive the insight I need.

Call of the Wilderness

Do you ever crave wilderness? That feeling of primeval wildness, outside the facade of security our civilizations claim to offer us? So now that a lot of the background stuffs are out of the way, maybe I can organize my thoughts a bit better and get into the meat and marrow of this blog.


Real hardships in America are so rare, when we do have them, the lack of community is so stark and yet so forgotten, we think someone else needs to come and fix whatever happened for us. I know that real change begins with the self, but we can't be afraid of our own shadows; our own darkness, and we can't just sweep it under the rug because it isn't pretty. I've been called, and I think so have many others, to bring out the demons and deal with them once and for all, giving purpose to our own darkness, and allowing it to work together with our own light as a whole. For me, the Call of the Wilderness is just that. It reflects in myself my totality; simultaneous creation and destruction, harmony with nature and the universe, and the beast within wants to show our world its power; my power, our gifts. It is my true self. Not many people I meet understand this call (however it manifests itself to them), and/or are too often, too afraid to heed it.

If not yet apparent, my blog name, Lonely Wolf, is in reference to the isolation felt by the lack of support a healthy spiritual community would normally provide due to the death of the old self and birth of the new, as well as the loneliness felt when attempting to share my experiences of dream/meditation animal shifting events coupled with my desires for wildness, with others who claim to be part of our 'pagan' community yet regard these wild experiences as some outside force that's  completely unrelatable despite my knowledge that it is a real part of myself. Wolf is, or course, in reference to Wolf Spirit whom I have already mentioned frequently visits me in dreams and meditations to lend its guidance and so often represents the wildness within me, wanting so desperately to express itself and with whom I maintain a deep connection with.

I visited yellowstone this summer and was stunned by the wild beauty there. It's visceral nature called out to me in an unprecedented way with such depth and force that I'm still craving access to real wilderness. I wrote a sort of poem about it, I'm calling it Call of the Wilderness, although that may change:

He looked out upon the elder lands, untouched by civilization save for their precautions to preserve its pure nature. Primeval vents scattered the land, spitting and gurgling mud, water and sulfurous steam onto the sullied sky. Their stink was abhorrent yet somehow each beckoned him to come a little closer, awakening within him a dark curiosity for what stirred in the deep pits of the steaming, crystal waters.

He looked out upon the elder lands, where grizzly bear, bison and wolves still rule the wilderness. Never before had he felt something so ancient and so alive, thriving in the midst of everlasting and simultaneous destruction and creation. The power was so great that in the act of breathing it in, he was broken: There were no more words, no comparisons that his modern world could offer him, and he knew he would never be satiated without access to this sacred alliance with primeval wilderness.

He looked out upon the elder lands, whose wild and ancient Spirit reflected within him something equally wild and ancient and he saw they recognized one another. In the flash of the moment therein, everything he thought he knew about himself; all the things he thought he was, his relationship to the world, society, community and his relationship to self, his identity, extinguished. Although it would take him days to realize, he was stunned, jolted and began to fall into the abyss of soul.

He looked out upon the elder lands, whose wild and ancient Spirit cast a deadly spell upon him: Death was summoned to deal a death-blow to his perspective, and Death is never unsuccessful: A sacrifice was made, and an ancient creature stirred deep within him. It was at once dark, ancient and familiar as the Wilderness that awakened it; it is his truest nature and he hungered to revive and honor it. It is his self, essence, power and reciprocity with the primeval wilderness he now yearned for with all his passion.

He looked out upon the elder lands, whose silent mirror-spell was the cataclysmic awakening of his grateful soul. The beast that stirred within lent him the knowledge that this was nothing more than a call to truth; the wanderer knows now what lies ahead, and this is the final choice to step forward into unanimity, or backward into decay. There is no stagnation, Death has been summoned, she can be his ally and unlock the door forward, or the door whose threshold is the precipice of abyss. All other doors shut and the lights dim.

He looked out upon the elder lands that gave him what he sought, reflecting upon his receipt of such a precious gift, never earned, merely requested. He was glad to have recognized it for what it was, and that he fell on the sacred sword of Earth’s wilderness: The sacrifice that awakened his wild soul within.

He looked out upon the elder lands, seated across from Death, stars streaming across a moonless sky: She kindly offered him drink. In one bony hand a gold cup, bejeweled with gems of light and filled with bright possibilities of social success. In the other hand, she held a dark cup of tarnished silver that appeared empty yet whose weight proved a fullness far exceeding the other. As she sat before him, cloaked in darkness and mystery, she spoke without words, softly to his mind, “Before you choose, know that both cups are poison; one is a brew of Seeds of the Yew, Yggdrasil, steeped in Eitr from the Midguard Serpent that bestows certain death. The other is a distillation of Lust, Desire and endless Craving that yields a tenacious, everlasting fever. Choose wisely, for your destiny is in one, and the other, your doom. This is the test of your soul, as only it can tell which is which.”

He looked out upon the elder lands and with the mysterious knowledge granted him by the awakening beast of his soul, he knew that he must choose death, and finish the work begun by the fateful mirror-spell, to commit his self to final sacrifice in order to fully bring to life the beast within. For he no longer feared Death and accepted her as an ally, he would place his trust in Death, and the rebirth of his Soul. He therefore chose the tarnished silver cup and as he pressed it to his lips, he heard in the distance his death knell ring aloud.

Chew on that bone for a while and let me know if it tastes familiar, I know there's more of us out there, looking for others that understand the Call of the Wilderness [or Wildness] in their own hearts where so many around us are afraid to acknowledge.

Not Yellowstone but a local lake: A little slice of wildness.

Tiny Revelations: The Struggle Between my Inner Dialogue and Quest for Inner Peace

Another night and another visit from the gods. I'm so glad at least some part of my Soul talks to the gods, even if my ego has forgotten how to hear. After I called the directions and invited the ancestors/gods, I allowed myself some time to practice inner silence. The dialogue of the mind/ego that seems inexhaustible is a severe distraction and source of energy depletion in my life (and I know there are many that share this nasty habit), and really prevents me from getting to where I want to be and/or for any length of significant time in my journeys. So in collaboration with the Others, my soul gave me a dream: I was riding my motorcycle and I was in a long-distance race going through Nevada (don't ask, I don't why, I loathe Nevada.) It was going fairly well until I tried to pass some ass hat in a large truck who kept squeezing me off to prevent me from passing. I was so livid if I wasn't on the bike I'd have kicked him in the face. The 'reality' factor of the dream degraded and all of a sudden there were multiple trucks/trailers clogging up the path (wasn't really a road anymore) and I kept having to weave in and out in between them, getting more and more lost in my frustration. Somewhere between getting to my destination and a blackout for some time, I found myself floating downwards through some soupy/foggy part of myself. I stopped and began circling around laterally arranged spine, like a giant misshapen rose thorn. I intuited that that was a point in myself of irritant, a fissure even, hardened by years of repeated (albeit mild) child abuse. It represented my desire for success. You see, I had learned very early on that one of the few ways to gain love and acceptance in my family was to be successful. It didn't usually matter what at, just being the best. Drawing the best picture, playing the best piano, No Mistakes, just perfection. Kinda funny, as my mom has kept a ton of crap from when I was a kid, and I look at my 'art' from back then, and I don't see any difference between mine and other kids my age! But I thought I was better back then, and (as the spike in the dream) I became more than willing to hurt myself, even a lot, in order to be what others wanted of me, to gain that love and acceptance I so craved.

I'm learning to love myself now, and that to be a strong man (or woman) means having the fortitude to provide those things - love and acceptance - for your self despite societies' misgivings about what's acceptable. It appears, however, there are still things left over that require dismantling, as they still stand between myself and myself (preventing me from becoming whole.) They drive a wedge between my ego and soul, between my consciousness and my subconscious, between me every-day self and my inner wolf. I feel his longing to bring me unity, to allow me to become whole, and his howls in the dark corners of my heart are heard; daily calling me to wilderness.

Speaking of wilderness, perhaps later today I'll share some thoughts about the wilderness that called me to make a stand.

Time to Reflect

Before I fell asleep I called the seven directions, the ancestors, the old gods of nature, and the new gods of humanity. I dreamed again; about the old family, old friends, and about the old church members. The ancestors told me it was time to let go, to say goodbye. So I invited them all into the space I’d created, one group at a time, and said my goodbyes, with the spirits as my witness. It’s just the beginning of letting go, but it’s a good start. I have a tenacious desire, like the wolf that relentlessly stalks his prey, to travel outside my body and cross into the other side; for adventure and journey, not so much escape, but to explore and experience the world as whole, not just what my ego can see. But I’m still afraid to let go. I’ve been learning that I have a variety of strong attachments to things I didn’t realize: Attachments to the old church, family, their judgments, attachments to my own physical body; these really are ego attachments. (The ego of psychology, not egotistical.)

So how do I even loosen, much less release those attachments to my ego? Bill Plotkin in his book Soulcraft talks a lot about that. And although I haven’t got quite half way with the book, I’m pretty sure his theory is to shock the ego with something like a vision or spirit quest. It’s not about being murderous to the ego, as it’s a necessary part of our human experience, but more about disallowing the ego to run the whole show while letting it play its part. Sounds simple, and it is, but it’s also incredibly difficult to accomplish. Our society really demands ego-attention; at work, play and our daily lives, always seem to be someone telling us we need to be or do this or that, buy, buy, buy, sell, sell, sell… What about what I want? Nobody asked me that. So how do I shake the ego to put him in his place in our ego-centric society? Ah, a fear says just now, “How will you operate in ego-centric society with ego not at the wheel?” A valid question, and one I don’t know the answer to.

Another attachment is that I identify with my ego, so if he goes, what do I become? I’m not a butterfly so I’m not used to the whole metamorphose thing. The old gods say that I have to replace my identity with a more soul-centric identity; become who I am deep down whilst letting go of the hold ego has on me. The Lotus is trying to set the bud, but there’s insufficient light. Or maybe those are just leaves, but either way. Frankly, I’m afraid of who I truly am. He doesn’t fit any stereotypes, and he certainly doesn’t fit in with society. He disagrees with how everyone does business, and his couple friends know he’s at least a little crazy… It’s already hard enough to form community, even in the realm of pagan-proclaimers; they don’t understand the inner beast, or they’re afraid of exploring that part of themselves. There is no controlled environment with which to play, he wants to be free and roam the wilderness. But he’s afraid no one will join him.

I believe it was Hugh MacCleod that said, “The price of being a sheep is boredom. The price of being a wolf is loneliness. Choose one or the other with great care.” So succinct, it is moving to know that someone out there in the world feels at least an inkling of what I do. Proof that empathy does exist.

I suppose my next steps are to continue releasing my hold on ego and other attachments through self-love, taking personal responsibility for them. I have also been asked to do my best to maintain almost a 3rd-person perspective on my life in each moment, maintaining a dreamlike perspective. This is supposed to help identify what areas of my life I have attachments to and why. And, continue to flesh out the identity of my soul, because for right now, it’s a beast, howling for freedom.

Brief history of the Lonely Wolf

Before I really start diving in to who and where I am now, it may be best to pause and take a look back at the past to get a better big picture view, for the sake of relevance. I don't think my story is too uncommon, and there are definitely things that are relatable to most. I grew up in a very fundamental, Christian based religion. Put up with parents who were nothing more than kids themselves, trying to raise kids. My dad never really stopped being a big kid who never wanted to work, and my mom never really grew out of that adolescent desire for drama. Growing up I never really seemed to fit anywhere. Church never could provide me with any of the answers to our existential questions of life and beyond. You know the ones, don't pretend otherwise. And my parents certainly didn't know; it was an endless feedback loop of ask your bishop, ask your parents, ask god, read the bible or whatever. A lot of years learning to hate myself for not fitting into the mold of society and/or religion. Does anyone ever fit that mold? I really don't think so, so why do we even have it? The bishop's kids are always the worst, and the biggest hypocrites are singing the loudest praises in the front row. I was never cool enough, too smart, not strong enough, too quiet, too loud and never myself. Oh did I mention gay? It's almost like it's not a thing anymore, but it is. There are still people who are racist and there will always be people who are homophobic. Not only could I never seem to find the middle ground, I was also supposed to hate myself because of my sexuality.

Blah, blah, blah. Sound familiar? It should, we're many. Quiet. Silent sufferers who too often don't have many (or anyone) to turn to for support. Not that our society and all its advancements is really prepared to deal with the psychological damage religion (and self hatred) causes to the human psyche anyways. A post for another time, though.

My parents got divorced and because I didn't want to live with one and not the other, that side of the family shunned me. Not shunned as in, "maybe you should wait a year to come to Christmas dinner," but shunned like not a phone call or even a text. I got a letter once from the grandparents but they made it pretty clear that they blamed me for my 'bad decision' and left it at a 'that's just too bad' scenario. The church reflected their lack of support. So that's easy, leave the church = leave the family. One side down. The other side, unfortunately, needs serious therapy on all fronts. So much insecurity driven manipulation that it was just added insanity to an already emotional roller coaster.

Okay let me say this is just some background info. I'm not complaining, just stating the facts for the big picture. If it was easy I might still be another cog so I'm actually grateful for being such a terrible fit. So I got out of the church, went to another one, and realized they were pretty much all the same with different names and [sometimes] different songs. So I started looking elsewhere to fill the hole of spirituality in my life. It's been quite a journey ever since.

 I let myself get a little crazy, looked into wicca and other new-agey stuffs. What caught my attention there was overhearing a conversation about out of body experiences (obe's) and recognized too many similarities to be coincidence from childhood, dreamlike experiences I remember fairly vividly. So I started down this interesting path of self-discovery, self-acceptance and self-healing, learning about myself and techniques to do so. Come to find out, there are remnants of and very much alive, old cultures to this day that actually value a person's inner journey. After all, how can they be a productive member of their community if they can't give what they're meant to? I.E. If someone's gift (drive) is accounting, but they try to be an artist, how can they force what they're not and still be productive, and visa versa. The point being, for people to be the most productive members of their community, their true selves must by honored by the self and the members of the community. So off to find myself. I had no teachers (that we can normally see) and only books written by others; a good start but I have to recommend after reading a few, put them down and make your own path. I'm still not 'good' at meditation but practice fairly regularly. And things happen that help guide me along the way.

Early on in this journey I was really feeling a lack of father figure in my life, when in dreamtime wolf spirit came to me and told me he'd always been there, that we were inseparably connected and that he was my father-guide. I never really liked wolves before, nothing special in my mind. I would have much preferred whale as my spirit animal. But that's ok, I quickly learned to love my connection with wolf spirit. Turns out even my family name (matriarchal side) means Wolf in another language. (I found out after the fact, by the way.) It's been a bit of a rough road though, most of the European pagan history was wiped out with the Christian invasion, and as for the Native American side, well I'm not Native American. So who do I talk to about this part of me? For now, I let wolf teach me as I go. Although not so much recently, I used to frequently shift into a wolf in dreamtime, among other animals, and was allowed to experience brief moments from the animals' points of view. Turns out that's really handy, because the human perspective can be incredibly limited if we let it, and we do. So I started letting the beast out more and more, little by little, until I've really found myself at a crossroads; to let the beast of my soul be strong and grow, some attachment(s) to society have to die. I still don't know what I have to offer my community, and don't really even have a community yet to offer to. I gave up a great job along the way to be able to move where the wild lands call to me more clearly, and they're more accessible, but what good am I on my own? Now I feel it's time to take a plunge into my own soul like I never have before. I visited Utah a while back and picked up a book called Soulcraft by Bill Plotkin, and only recently started reading it. It's definitely the right time for me, and I'll definitely be blogging about how those passages resonate with what I'm experiencing right now in my own life.

Let out the beast tonight, maybe we'll find each other in dreamtime. Heed the call of the wilderness.

*Wild Dog by Corinne Reid

Check out her art, it's amazing. Buy some prints, buy some shirts, support artists.

Corinne's Website

Humble Beginnings

Sometimes the beginning is the most difficult part: The blank paper staring back at the painter, his palette of watercolors quivering with anticipation to bleed into the fibers and each other. The sheet of music staring back at the composer, a myriad of notes, chords and scales thirsting for their time to sound in dissonance and resolve. I must remember that before the paper is mounted, or the blank music sheets are opened, before the paint quivers or the notes thirst, there is always another beginning; an indefinable point within ourselves that could cry out in passion, pain, longing, joy or an indescribable number and combination of inspirational visions who must take physical form, and so often directs their birth through any myriad of mediums into physical manifestation.

So often I wish for that manifestation to be smelt, heard, seen, felt and/or tasted by another, to share my own life. But what if that indefinable point wants to express something that the architects of civilization deem reprehensible, evil or down right naughty? With whom do I share my wildness; when that indefinable soul within me inextricably desires to read tarot cards for a living, sit naked in the quiet forest or just howl at the moon and invite the spirits of the old gods to teach me something new, in whom can I confide?

In part, this blog is here for me to put those thoughts, feelings and desires into the world in a fashion that takes relatively little time and that I can do when/wherever a computer is convenient. In part, this blog is here for me to let out the howl and tell you, wherever you are, that I’ve got something to share. And just maybe, someone will get it; like the Lone Wolf who howls at the night to find his mate, his friends, his pack, perhaps mine will be listening.

I would also like to simultaneously begin with what this blog is not. This is not a furry-finder blog, and there is no role-play here. When I talk about my inner animal or inner beast I am literally referring to that inexorably wild part of myself, and my relationship to the spirits, including the animal spirits, I meet on my journeys through life. Doesn’t mean I’m hating on furries or role players, I’m just letting you know upfront what I’m not representing in my correspondences here. I’ve found a serious lack of the ‘real deal’ discussions online and decided to start one of my own. And before you ask me if I’ve checked out the myriad of social networking sites devoted to pagans, new agers or meetups, the answer is yes, and I reply: have you? Gotta sift through a lot of shit to find a handful of truly open-minded and supportive people. And I mean I could count them on one hand. You might be surprised (or not) by how many astral-travelers, out of body new agers and/or pagans that get a blank stare when you ask them if they often shapeshift into beasts during their journeys in dreamtime. It’s a lonely world and an unorganized community. Not to mention full of drama-crazies, or people who want your wallet and then some before they ‘guide’ you to their version of the other side.

Now for what this blog definitely is and what it may become: Due to my distaste and dissatisfaction with the caliber and quality of people professing to be open to and/or practitioners of some form of psycho-spiritual awareness (be it neo-shamanism, wiccan, druid, reconstructionist, the list goes on), and due to the fact that I just moved to this place from about 1000 miles away less than 2 years ago, I have only a couple good friends, and I doubt our relationships have developed to a point, and may never, where we can have the types of discussions I intend on putting on my blog. As these discussions are about my real self, and are the deepest parts of me, having none to share with creates a supreme loneliness, so I turn to the blog and internet communities. Perhaps someone out there is going through a similar situation, will hear the howl to commune, and under the darkness of email create community. Maybe they even happen to be nearby and someday we meet under the darkness of getting a coffee. Lol. I hope this community hears the call and finds itself. If my blog inspires you or becomes the source, so be it. I will not, however, put too many limitations on it as it also must serve as a medium to express myself in the meantime.

So hear’s howlin’ at you PDX, may we find ourselves and each other.