women who run with wolves.

got my first tattoo today.
i absolutely love it.

thank you, more please.

luz del abismo
the light from the abyss
its a term used in spanish folklore to represent the wild woman archetype.

She is both friend and mother to all those who have lost their way, all those who need a learning, all those who have a riddle to solve, all those out in the forest or the desert wandering and searching.

In actuality, in the Psychoid unconscious-the layer from which the Wild Woman emanates- Wild Woman has no name, for she is so vast. But, since this force engenders every important facet of womanliness, here on earth she is named many names. Not only in order to peer into the myriad aspects of her nature but also to hold on to her. Because in the beginning of retrieving our relationship with her she can turn to smoke in an instant, by naming her we create for her a territory of thought and feeling within us. Then she will come, and if valued, she will stay.

So, in spanish she might be called Rio Abajo Rio, The river beneath the river; La mujer Grande, the Great Woman; Luz del abismo, the light from the abyss. In Mexico, she is La Loba, The wolf woman, and La Huesera, the bone woman.

She is called in Hungarian, O,Erdoben, She of the Woods, and Rozsomak, The Wolverine. In Navajo, she is Na;ashje’ii Asdzaa, The spider woman, who weaves the fate of humans and animals and plants and rocks. In Guatemala, among many other names, she is Humana del Niebla, the mist being, the woman who has lived forever. In Japanese, she is Amaterasu Omikami, The Numina, who brings all light, all consciousness. In Tibet she is called Dakini, the dancing force which has clear seeing within women. And it goes on. She goes on.

The comprehension of this Wild Woman nature is not a religion but a practice. It is a psychology in its truest sense: psukhe/psych, soul; ology or logos, a knowing of the soul. Without her, women are without ears to hear her soultalk or to register the chiming of their own inner rhythms. Without her, women’s inner eyes are closed by some shadowy hand, and large parts of their days are spent in a semi-paralyzing ennui or else wishful thinking. without her women lose the sureness of their soulfooting. without her, the forget why they are here, they hold on when they would best hold out. Without her they take too much too little or nothing at all. Without her they are silent when they are in fact on fire. The Wild Woman is their regulator, she is their heart, the same as a human heart regulates the physical body.

….she is what she is and she is whole……

…even the most captured woman guards the place of the wildish self, for she knows intuitively that someday there will be a loophole, an aperture, a chance, and she will hightail it to escape…..

…the wild nature has a vast integrity to it. It means to establish territory, to find one’s pack, to be in one’s body with certainty and pride regardless of the body’s gifts and limitations. to speak and act  in one’s behalf, to be aware, alert, to draw on the innate feminine powers of intuition and sensing, to come into one’s cycles, to find what one belongs to, to rise with dignity, to retain as much consciousness as possible….

…as in all art, she resides in the gut, not in the head…

~Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Women Who Run With the Wolves


holy road we are on tonight

blind pilot.

seeing these guys tuesday in carrboro.

bonsai castle

Japanese artist Takanori Aiba



nothingness + beingness are merely conceptions

this is the primal identity
what we left
for what we become

taken down by time
an unfoldment of forever

her time became her
wrapped up in moments
stolen by mind

she willed herself forward
uncovering her notions
unraveling her visions

darkened states
no longer fueled the flames
unchained by time

this is how we find home
we become what we always should of been

she identifies with a sense of knowing

that transcends all time

the limitations of now
don’t stop the senses

 <<< she senses new time >>>>

she found her way back to what
she would always become

written 2.6.12

be careful what you water your dreams with…

she’s been breaking bread
with the savages in her mind

her self flagellation of thoughts
that undermined her sense of now
unearthed her reality
uprooted her senses
sent her spinning into new time

our new ways of wounding
distort the framework for knowing
we get what we become
due to a loss of now

she stayed stuck
to a past that presented itself in the present

she carried her memories
reflected them in mirrors
then lost all sense of sight

she became her distorted vision
prophesied her becoming
through perceived notions of then + now

bottomed out
in blackened nights

she shattered those visions
laid it all to rest
for the sake of survival

she began to be here now
no more escapes from never
no more fleeing from sight

she met with her monsters
toasted her sins
the essence of emptiness
the dangers of becoming too light

she began to live in visions of now

written 2.5.12

image found on http://thelifeisforthosewhodream.tumblr.com/

archaic revival – the last sane moment we ever knew

she has undone herself
since the dawning of time

held down by fevers
and flushed by the forgotten
she began to become
where there was never space before

she unearthed these parts of herself
that were once blackened by time

taken out
excavated the arcane

the dwellings of minds door
holds home for the lost sequence of life

once remembered can
shed light to the infinite

she found home
to the wills and the ways of a lost notion

she became
what wouldn’t become

written 2.4.12

image found on http://impushingmylimits.tumblr.com/

in irons

she loves the ways of the world
that fold underneath her skin

pinned down by time
and kept there for her becoming

she began to become
evolving in her motions
seeing history repeat
and prophecies rein true

the secret notions of would be breaths
poured through her nostrils
seeping out her pores

her essence escaped her
dividing itself

multitude of magnitude
transference of being
her one to the many

written- 1.12.12

image found on http://svalkarvinden.tumblr.com/post/15359289829

mercenaries + missionaries

shes not sure if she will ever stop witnessing the days
when life recedes itself to the darkness

she runs through streets
fleeing from a past
looking over shoulders
to catch glimpses of the ghosts
that haunt her always

they followed her through time + space
disappearing + reappearing
in a pattern of death + rebirth
buried + unearthed

a risen savior with the wounds of the crucified

blood that can only be seen by her “is”

………………………   her “is” dictates the focus……………………………….




written 12-2011

image found on http://erikssonjonas.com/category/talents/


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