Wind Wolf of the Woods

 

I am thinking today about this thing I read on how in some Nordic cultures, ancient folks believed the Northern Lights were caused by Wolves. Last night I was very deeply lost in this thought.

Years ago, the first time Northern Lights came to me, I was still in school. Slowly, over the years I moved through my life with Wolf by my side.

Even back then, the connection was pretty straightforward to me.

In the swirling, aquamarine pool of my core, Wolves and Northern Lights felt like an extension of each other, just as pine trees and rainclouds did. To me, these were pearls on a single string of starlight. Cosmically, they all aligned.

 

I was asleep to this fact about ancient Nordic folk though. For years I thought ah, this sense of them being a single constellation is just my interpretation of it all,

Until one day I read about it.

What a strange thing, I think now.

Why did it make sense to me all those years ago, how did I stumble across such a connection without even knowing about it? Without being ever been in a Nordic country?

 

Perhaps I have Nordic ancestors who like the way I see the world on rainy days, in quiet moments of serenity only found in the depths of music and under the water.

The pebbles of memories grazing against my toes as I stay spinning in the crystal clears of the cosmos.

How beautiful, I think now, to be able to close your eyes and breathe tenderly and feel aligned with things so utterly difficult to explain in simple words.

Who would ever believe me?

I would.

 

In vedic astrology, my Asc is Magha, ruled by Pitras- the Ancestors. Forefathers and foremothers and I personally believe now, just forefolk in general.

Whether that’s the foliage you’ve been or the found family you glided across snowy winters with, or just the skies you’ve looked at, or the grandparents and siblings you’ve shared stories and kisses with.

My mother mustve been my mother even then, as a wolf or Moose or a tree, she absolutely adores snowy mountains and longs to go back.

Always that yearning.

 

Did we curse winter so much that we were dropped here by a frustrated Universe? Its hilarious to think about.

 

I understand the inexplicable yearning tho, that invisible hand dragging you along and towards something else.

“ Mountain keeps knocking at my door, “

“ He’s been here a hundred times before. “

 

In the quietness when the pools take over, I can feel the frame of me blur out and fade into waters I have not touched. I can feel the wind in my face, in my fur, my feet against the wet forest floor, the pine trees singing above as I glide past soft as wind,

And

All of the world just stands still, attentive to my command, attentive to my glory, I am so deeply rooted in the forest that I become it, and I touch every corner of this world, and the sky keeps trying to catch a glimpse of me with its little sunny flashlight,

Sun glistening on my fur and my gold eyes glinting and strict. Nothing misses me, the king of the winds. I see everything.

 

I am everywhere then.

Within moments that swirl against each other like ghosts, the water beads start to form on the arms of the pine, I dodge each with my swift glide, I jump and I fly and I land on my feet and the raindrop reaches the ground long after me. And it’s a little game that I play every now and then with the sky.

I am still trying to figure out whose side the trees are on.

 

My hair delightfully attentive and everywhere,

I am as free as freedom is, I am as Glorious as Glory is.

I am the Sun and I am the Rainclouds and I am the Shadows of the mountains.

The whisper-soft Music of this land is a halo around my neck.

Rings of that planet I keep seeing when I fall asleep.

It keeps calling my name like a friend.

 

And when the day is dipping behind the soft mountains, I carry my tired body and the tired raindrops on my back.

The lights start to fill the sky then 

and I know it’s the right time for me to open my heart 

and sing.

To let the sleeping woods and the Sky know I am still here.

I am still darker and stronger than the shadows, I am sturdier than the storms and I am tender like the very blue green reflection of my soul in the sky.

I am the  N o r t h e r n  L i g h t s  

.

.

 

 

Sometimes when the snow is powdery glass under my feet and the fish mock me from beneath the frozen like I wonder if theres a King of the Waters, like me,

Glorious, singing, floating across the vast turquoise like I float across the inky blue night sky,

Is there one who knows my song by heart?

 

I am unaware and I am unbothered and yet I know if I ever want to, I could run to them, that king of the aquamarines, of the turquoise, of seashells. The forest would clear me a path and the winds would usher me, my mane all over my body a waving flag and my footsteps the drums of thunder.

Off I would go running, crystals on my whiskers and in me eyes, the Polar Lights a trail.