Is it just me or there is seldom a scenario as awe-inspiring as a strayed wolf, coming home to its pack. It is what raises the gooseflesh of our skin, up in a grand salute and causes for our tears to bow down in respect. It is what makes us nostalgic to a very unique and a most beautiful kind of nostalgia – that for a time and place that we have never seen but have lived nevertheless, inside us all along.
Almost as if we were the strayed wolf ourselves, who was probably caught by a circus troupe as an infant and raised to be an entertaining circus animal. Toiling hard through the day, to work against our natures and taming ourselves. Trying hard to please and appease. In exchange for a place to sleep and some food to eat. But in the end only being doomed to a destiny of being the ugly duckling.
So when we see a wolf’s homecoming, it is like finally believing, if even for a minute, that we were black swans amidst the white and yellow ducks. Maybe we were not ugly in another world, in another pack, in another water pond!
Yes, it is true that when we do not realise our true natures we cannot love ourselves. And when we cannot love ourselves, we cannot allow ourselves to be loved by others. The cutting of ties with our own nature is bound to cut all our ties with the pack we are surrounded by. They are both interdependent events. A vicious cycle. This is what is called not knowing yourself, who we are and what are we doing here on Earth. It is straying away from oneself. And I believe that most of us Strayed Wolves ourselves, by those definitions.
Only a few of us realise that we are strayed and believe that we have snapped all connections with ourselves, much less with those around us. And even amongst those that have realised that they are lost, strayed into the wild woods, away from the safety of the tamed civilisations, do not have the courage to go on and find their packs in the wild. We are like wild wolves caught in a taming circus of the cities we live in, selling ourselves with pictures and pricing ourselves (not valuing ourselves) with clicks and likes and double-taps and views. They are the prices we are paid to run around, display stunts in the circus. And at the end of the day, we all go into the cages beneath the playground.
We are afraid to go out into the wild and be the wolves that we are. Wild, untamed and free. And we have good reasons to be afraid because we have grown to see that those that have deferred and escaped, have only found themselves shot down by the city police or by stone throwers on the streets. We know no other way to accept our wild selves but to paint it up with the colours of the circus and put up pictures of us as proof of our tamed and harmless selves. The other option is uneventful and useless death.
Sometimes we escape by chance, we are lured into an escape by the universe. The wild calls us, summons us, laying down baits and crumbs to outside the circus tent. And we follow suit. But more often than not, when the line of crumbs, comes to an end and has succeeded in bringing us out of the tent – we look up to see that we are all alone. That we are suddenly wild beasts, out on the loose, still farther off from the jungle, from our pack. We look back to see our caged friends behind us and feel a nostalgia of the worst kind. We are tempted to go back, apologise for our mistakes and return to the safety of the chains.
We are afraid of those who guard the circus, the police men incharge of keeping the beasts in place. We are afraid of being shot dead. We may think about running off while there is time. But where do we run off to? Back inside the circus, are the only people we know and are used to knowing. We do not want to go back there. That is what we wished to escape in the first place. So where do we go now? What do we do? We have found ways, usually at night or even in daytime psychedelia, to escape from our circuses. We have followed the bread crumb trails and devoured on them with ecstasy. But now what? We have been lured out in the open and now we are faced with the choice of staying back without any bread crumbs or crawl back into the safety of the slavery.
There is a hidden meaning in us being lured into those bread crumbs. And it is simply that we have an appetite for something that was not being served to us in the cages of our circus. We have an identity more than what we were brought up to believe in. And if we truly wanted to be at peace and happy, we had to go looking for where does this unexplored nature of ourselves takes us. There is absolutely nothing in our way to stop us
There is absolutely nothing in our way to stop us. If only we heard our own voices, deep and true, with all our purity and strength and pursued it with utter sincerity. We have been given the compass to guide us in the direction we have to move. All we have to do is to keep moving. When alone and strong, we are to go on alone. When threatened and feeling weak, we are to find a pack. A pack of wolves, as wild us or atleast accepting of our quests to find ourselves. Accepting that we were following our compasses.
I believe there is nothing in our way to stop us. There is nothing but for empty fears. Fears born out of our own inability to understand the truth. Fear born out of our impatience, wrong moralities, compromised existence. After all, a star does not need to be confused about what it is supposed to be doing. To be burning or not to be burning? It just burns. Through and through. It stands to burn because it is its nature, it is who it is. There is no other existence to be confounded by. There is nothing in its way to stop it from burning, until it has the fuel to burn. Until it has what it takes to be a star. All there is then, is to burn.
A star finds its galaxy. A wolf finds its pack. And there hardly a thing more beautiful than a star realising it was meant to burn. And a wolf realising it was meant to howl. For the pack is united in its nature to howl.
Learn. Teach yourself. How to howl. How to burn. Allow yourself, to teach yourself. Because you know how to howl and how to burn. Like a wolf. Like a star.
He who cannot howl, will not find his pack ~ Charles Simic