Memories of Willow

A long time ago when I had fur over my skin, I used to run ceaselessly through the forest and howl at the moon, willing it to do my bidding. I slept beside the same stream that I drank from, and my food was earned through hard work and strategy. I sought shade in the summer and shelter from the storm. My dreams were full of vivid colors and twitchy paws, and I lived for nothing other than the present moment. I confess to missing all of this despite the fact that my current status provides me with thumbs. Sleeping under a willow tree by the creek and stretching all four legs to their greatest lengths, my only pursuit being the life of a well-fed predator, was magical. Fangs were…beautiful weapons that I miss immensely. A voice is not nearly as impactful. I’m also always cold. I’ve seen many births and deaths. I’ve caused some endings and because of this, I fully understand that life is to be lived.

In this life, I walk upon two feet and dress myself in stitched together garments of suspect origin, although I refuse to wear shoes with high heels. I still have standards, after all. I have what they call “table manners” and speak in a language that lacks substance, even though it contains many words. I’ve learned to read and write and learned what is expected and what is not allowed. So many things…not allowed. It’s hard sometimes to keep track of them. I miss my bare paws on the ground and so I go without the shoes whenever I can. I cannot hear very well now, and seeing in the dark is something that I also miss very deeply. There are so many things to see throughout the night. The owl watching me as I watch whatever it is that I’m watching. The other night dwellers watching whatever it is they are hunting. The moon. My beautiful moon bedazzled by the stars in the sky.

To know what is necessary is a wonderful thing. For what is necessary to be simple, true and available makes sense. Food, water, shelter, the pack. All measurable. All attainable with the work of life. In this life, I have absolutely no idea what others “like me” want from me. There is no truth to them and dissecting meaning from the things that they say is next to impossible. The words don’t match the tone, the smiles hide the reality, the lies are spoken so easily. I’m confused by “influencers” and what there is to influence. I understand teamwork. Wolves are good at that. But that concept is lost here too. Winners and losers are the categories of humanity. In the wild there is no gluttony. We consume what we need and then we rest. We leave little behind and we speak clearly to each other. Here and now, we litter the planet with all the things we so desperately needed for the millisecond that it took us to push the “add to cart” button. Our carts are gigantic and have no bottom. The more we fill them the emptier we feel. We travel to other places because we are sick of being home. Yet everything that was delivered from our bottomless cart resides there. Our hearts and bellies can never be full because it’s our souls that are starving. There is no cure for the sickness that we have given ourselves.

In the next life, I think I will be a lioness. Back to fangs, knowing your meaning and straightforward communication.

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