[Note: Chronologically, this is not the next post; there is one in between that deals with the early part of September, but did not get finished/posted in time for this one, and this one demanded my attention today.]
It is storming harder right now than it has at any point in this weekend nor-easter. Cars drive by one at a time, random spaces between each passing, the road lacking enough cars to make the sound patterns of traffic. Mostly I hear the rain on the roof, the wind slapping wet leaves against each other, and the occasional incoming airplanes that tease of thunder. The energy that has quietly simmered for over a day has come into its wildness, burgeoning with still-banked power. I wonder if it’s the kind of storm that will be fully unleashed, though if the weather reports are correct, we will both be left wanting.
I feel a bone-deep yearning, an ancient pull that is as familiar to me as my name. My wild part, feral and strong, beckon me outside. She wants to run breathless in the wind, to be cleansed in the rain that’s still warm from Mabon days of sun. She is the one who first reminded me I’m a witch, the first protector, the only predator within me. She is the one who feels at peace in the woods, who whispered, “go to Vermont,” over a decade ago. She is the one who can’t tear her eyes from the wilderness outside her windows, the one who sighs when then rest of me moves forward with a domestic life.
I have been doing parts work, also known as internal family systems, in therapy for a few years now. It has brought me to a much greater understanding of myself and how I move through the world. Today is a wonderful moment in that, a day of discovery, as this is the first time I’ve identified this wild ancestral part.
The two songs melding on the radio in my head since I woke up are completely different genres and artists; not that that’s unusual, mind you. But when “Wolf mother, where you been?” leads into “you saved my life, not once but twice,” it’s an interesting medley. There’s enough dissonance to echo the present energy of the storm.
I cannot tell you how glorious it is to welcome this part, to name her, my she-wolf. Especially after this past week.
I caught a cold. A head cold, the kind I’d pushed through in the past, miserable and chugging Dayquil, but unable to stop myself. I’d been too worried about work, my time-off balance, keeping my job, and it wouldn’t take but a minute for me to catastrophize myself into getting my shit together and to the office. For the first time in a very long time, however, I feel secure enough that when I realized an hour into my remote work that I couldn’t keep my head up, I told my boss I was sick. I’d hoped that a day of rest and lots of Vitamin C would do the trick, but alas. After all the stress and worry of September, my body had decided it was time to sit my ass down.
And so, I did. For three days, I missed work. I felt like I’d passed the peak of it Thursday night and had hopes for Friday, but Friday dawned with a splitting headache and my body said, not today. And I listened.
I recognize the amount of privilege I have in being able to take three consecutive days off to take care of myself; however, if I focus on that right now, I will derail into another rant on capitalism and the mindset that only productive people deserve good things. And that’s not where the wind and rain are guiding me.
Instead, I’m focusing on the growth and grace I’ve shown to my body and all my parts. I’m focusing on gratitude that I now work somewhere that I feel truly supported as a person – a person who has a life outside the walls of the building, and that life comes with relatives with sudden medical problems, and a kid with needs that can be hard to meet, and a body that says, “I need a rest,” all in the same month.
Saturday night, after another unexpected couch nap, I woke up feeling more myself than I had in weeks. The cold had moved to my chest, and I’ve got a pretty good cough that I’ll be keeping to myself – but I could think clearly, and I had some more energy than the days prior. I got more done in 2.5 hours on Saturday night than the past 4 days combined, and the house feels like it did before I got sick. Don’t get me wrong, there was still all the evidence that a 6-year-old child diagnosed “ADHD AF” (and more) lives here; but the dishes were done, the sink was clean, and all the laundry was put away. Well, except for the summer stuff, which will be going into the storage bin when I drag it out of the closet later.
My paramedic part had been front and center for the better part of the month, what with the health issues in my family and the shockingly triggering experience watching my first demolition derby. When she finally stepped back, I needed to care for myself, and allow sleep and non-activity to be the plan. Today, to feel my she-wolf come forward and let herself be named, is elating.
Last month, my beau and I went to see Brandi Carlile at Tanglewood. Her latest album is titled “Returning to Myself,” and the songs feel like a kindred spirit. I haven’t seen Brandi since I saw her with Hawthorne. There was a thread of melancholy; I can’t even say bittersweet, because there was nothing bitter about it. Hawthorne was the one to introduce me to Brandi; I think they would have appreciated that I went with my beau, with a bottle of wine (our favorite, and definitely not Hawthorne’s, since I can’t drink red anymore) and a couple of bricks of cheese. We sang along, we held each other, we cried when Brandi’s songs demanded it. It was a stunningly beautiful experience.
Since then, I’ve been able to share the musical magic of Over the Rhine with my beau. At first I struggled with what song to start with; so many speak to me, so many have carried me through different times and experiences of my life. But when I just let the music come to me, it was so clear that the first lesson must be that out here, we learn to leave the edges wild.
There must always be room for the wild. Even here, in metro-suburbia, two miles from the city limits of Boston, there is wild to be found. Once again I find myself living on the edge of that wild; a state park this time, not a national forest, but still steps away from deep woods and rocky hills. Recently I learned we have copperheads, to go along with timber rattlesnakes, plus the non-venomous water and garter snakes I’m more used to. They’ve been coming closer to the dirt road we take behind the golf course, as there has been more construction disturbing the ground. My steps there have not slowed, but have been made with more healthy respect and caution. I see coyote scat, and occasionally will hear the pack at night.
Occasionally, the wild comes to me. In early September, I had to remove a wasp, a moth, and finally, a bat from my house in the same weekend. This is the fourth time I’ve had to remove a bat; the fourth time, in the fourth different house. I’ve always removed them, alive, without anyone being bitten or otherwise injured. Finally, this fourth visit, I’ve realized that maybe this isn’t a coincidence, maybe this is something I should be paying attention to.
The correspondence for bats in pagan and non-monotheistic religions is remarkably similar across cultures, symbolizing transition (including death/rebirth), perception, and the unseen. It feels fitting that this bat decided to visit in this Mabon season, the equal splitting of daylight and darkness; and also in this particular period of my life.
My word of the year has been “embrace,” and this feels like an excellent place to practice that. The wild is there; it is outside, on the edges, and it is within me. It deserves to be named and honored. I have no need to try to brace myself for it, for it’s already there. Rather, I can embrace the wild, my she-wolf, and listen when she speaks. The language is ancient, and impossible to translate to modern-day English. Still it is buried within us, waiting to be heard, to be recognized, an inescapable tether to our roots. The struggles we face as individuals are not new, just present in new machinations that our ancestors could not even fathom.
May you weather this storm, and those to come. May you embrace your wild voice, however that comes through for you. And may we leave this earth a little better than we found it, in whatever way we can.
