Stalking My Stories

I am aware that great stories arise out of daily life.  They become great because the storyteller weaves the threads seamlessly into the fabric of this cloth.  These stories are often about unheroic acts that by their unremarkable nature makes them extraordinary in their being told.  We remember these ordinary events of life and in our recalling and retelling they move into personal myth and legend.  

Ravens give wings to your stories; listen to the voices of your ancestors telling you that the world is changing and your fears are but dry leaves beneath a tree awaiting the winds of change to rearrange them into a new day. 

La Loba has long been my muse to the world of my stories; the mythical collector and preserver of those things that are in danger of becoming extinct in our world.    She is an old woman who draws magic into my life as I sit by my fire and dream, and think, and dream my story into being.  She slowly and deliberately feeds the bones of my story that she has been collecting forever until her breath breathes life into these bones.  Bone by bone the skeleton of my story takes life and these bits and pieces become the foundation of my stories.    

Writing is a creative act that feeds the fire of my instinctual self; first I dream, then think, dream again, and then I create my reality.  Through the flames of self my wild woman emerges.  The world does not encourage nor support the emergence of this magnificent being; in fact it does everything in its power to discourage her emerging.  A world that wants everyone to be docile, accepting, and not questioning of authority cannot, and will not, support the appearance of this wild self.

It is through my acts of creativity and love for myself that La Loba gains a foothold into my life and my creative wild self comes alive.  This is a bone that she retrieves, collects, assembles into the skeleton of my wild woman, and then breathes life into this being.  Society does much to discourage her reemergence, and like endangered species there is the fact that without my diligence this wild woman could become extinct.

So La Loba is the archetype that guides my thoughts and actions on the journey through this lifetime.  The practice I have developed to honor her is after waking each morning I find a few minutes to engage in creative thought that leads to creative action.  I then share this with others and in this way allow her creative muse to drape around my shoulders.  As I prepare for the day in this way La Lobe has voice and speaks to and through my thoughts, words, and actions.

It is said the her specialty in reclaiming all manner of lost things is the wolf.  Like her name, La Loba is the wolf woman, and in welcoming her into my life I embrace this wild self and recreate her being through me.  As the legend says, La Lobe stands over the skeleton laid out on the floor of her cave, and as she sings her songs the wolf begins to flesh out and is covered in fur; and as she sings the wolf rolls over, open its eyes, jumps up, and runs out into La Loba's land. And as it runs, perhaps by its speed, or by it splashing into the water, or maybe a ray of sunlight or moonlight strikes it in its side, the wolf transforms into a strong and beautiful woman running free toward the horizon.  

I stalk my stories each day with La Loba's mantel drapped around me.  Through my stalking her, and she staking me, I can each day take birth to my creative, wild, instinctual self.  In honoring her and giving her life through my thoughts and words the danger of her extinction becomes less because she is recalled and remembered.  It is in this remembering, recalling, creating, and telling that our stories become myth and legend, and Wild Woman is assured of her survival in this modern day world.