the mouth of the wolf

I have been standing on the edge staring into the darkness.

I have been up against the wall, thinking: Wait for it… Wait for it…

What does a train wreck sound like? Do you hear it all at once? or is it a symphonic that unfolds in your deepest dreams, little by little, over a lifetime? The sound of everything breaking.

There is something I can’t look at. It’s right there. I can’t see it.

What is this thing with money? What IS money? Where does it come from? What does it do? Why can’t I look at it? My attention slides off like twin-poled magnets. Can’t. Touch. That.

I asked for help with this. I asked for help seeing. And for repairing whatever it is that appears to be broken.

The wolf came right away, dark and shaggy, loping across the meadow on stealth-paws. She carries all her magnetism in her jaws so that it’s hard to pull focus to her eyes. She can watch you and watch you and all you can do is think of her teeth and tongue and the saliva warmth of her breath. This is not quite as scary as it sounds.

She wanted me to follow her, and so I did. We ran back through the meadow. I was happy because I was going to get help. There was so much authority in the way she moved through the grass, I was so grateful that she had come to help me, I almost laughed.

And then I stepped in a noose. The trap triggered, snagged me by the ankle and hoisted me up like the tarot’s hanged man. Everything fell out of my pockets. My skirt opened like an umbrella blossom. Petals rained down to the ground. I spun slowly. Ridiculous.

The wolf stopped, turned and returned to sit facing me, eye to eye, her breath playing through the fall of my hair. “I’m sorry,” I said. I thought she would be put out by my silliness. I thought she would brook no delay. But there was none of that in her face.

“It’s ok,” she said, “I can wait.”

And all at once I understood that she was smiling at me.


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13 Responses to the mouth of the wolf

  1. codirector says:

    … d r e a m y … these words play like a twisting satin ribbon … l o v e …

  2. Will you please ask her to visit me?

  3. Hello Girl,
    I wanted to share your blog the other day on a Social Media feed but then realized your name is not referenced anywhere on your site. I don’t remember how I came upon your blog but I have it on my Google Reader. Enjoy your posts keep up the fascinating work. Dreamwork is a life long path is it not? Much like going to the yoga mat or to the pad with the pen.

    • girl says:

      Thank you Nicole. I am Lisa King. Maybe it’s time to say that somewhere.

      I’ve just dipped into your site. I think: OH! We should have tea together.

      • Of course we should have tea. I am just surprised that you have all this content posted but you don’t give yourself credit for it. And that could have to do with being upside-down like the hanged man. He was a victim always putting himself last. He willingly sacrifices himself for the good of others. Noble to a fault. And might this abyss of money have something to do with the metaphor of the wolf is at the door? Just thinking out loud.

        • girl says:

          I love your phrase: Lucid living. That’s it exactly.

          About that hanged man… there’s something too about stopping, not rushing headlong. Is it courage or folly to wait until you know what direction to go? Sometimes holding still in the unknowing is the scariest thing.

          • In my opinion – the direction does not matter it is the way you walk the path so I would say it is folly. As long as it is a path that feels right under your feet. One that speaks your truth – you should leap – just go!

            • girl says:

              Yes. I am walking the walk. But there’s a big old train bearing down on me. Clearly something must be done. I just haven’t imagined it yet.

  4. uru says:

    For a thing you cannot see, make a symbol for it.

    Take a rock, let it stand for what you need. Set it in a sacred place. Tell it how grateful you are. Let your gratitude wash through all that is stuck and binding.

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