It is worse to stay where one does not belong at all than to wander about lost for a while, looking for the psychic and soulful kinship one requires.

― Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Women Who Run With the Wolves

Raging Storms outside my Window

 The raging storm has passed. Weeks of grey water and sky now replaced by a melange of pinks, purples and blues. It’s 7am and the sun has risen. I too am experiencing the end of a stormy period, and feel the dawning of a colourful hue.

The flicker from the flame that is my soul… that is my heart’s desire…it is known to me now. This precious drop of life force resides in the core of my being. It has a potency that propels me out of bed, not because I should be up, but because I want to live. Just as the storm’s wind and water have dislodged the driftwood and the rocks to create a new beach in front of my cottage, I too will never be as I was. The path to oneself contains many periods of disruption and destruction, but I would willingly withstand any number of internal storms, to experience this passion and desire, this palpable wave of libido…life energy.

I am beginning to live the life I once saw only in my imagination. Even as a child, forced to comply with the expectations and rules of my parents, I had a sense that one day, my life would feel different…one day I would feel free of constraint. This ‘knowing’ has been my guiding light, my divining rod. I believe we all possess this tiny oft unheard voice that ‘knows’. The cages of childhood and marriage enslaved my spirit, cowed my joie de vivre. Be polite Be productive Be kind Be virginal Be available Be the best Be giving…  These commands do not serve the heart, the soul, the psyche. Never was it said to me, “And what is your desire?” but I have the power to say this to myself!

My Souls’s Desire is Chasing Rainbows

This week with men! 

Heeding the advice from my wise friend S, I asked 2 men from POF for their numbers, rather than reveal mine. She also suggested I use *67 so that my number remained hidden. Unfortunately, I impulsively phoned Peter, leaving my digits exposed. The virtual conversations with this highly educated man, were snappy and fun and very respectful of my thoughts and feelings. So too, was our hour long phone conversation, other than his creepy revelation that he had googled my phone number, so now knew where I lived… 21st century dating…protect your identity…lesson learned. Later that Saturday, a message came from Peter, asking to meet. I responded by saying that I wrote on Sundays and Mondays, so maybe Tuesday. His response;

Peter: We are complex personalities….unlike you,l do not make rules…it might be a deal breaker…

Me: I agree!

Peter: ohh????

This was followed by an immediate phone call from him, wondering what I meant. I simply responded from my intuitive and knowing self. I said writing was not a rule but a a desire for me, and that I would not be contained by a man.

 He then turned nasty and belligerent, barking like an enraged dog, ‘You are out of touch with reality and will never find a man. You’re a manipulative game player etc etc” Then he hung up! I was nonplussed by his reaction. Sir Gawain this man was not. Sovereignty over my life…not on offer with a man such as Peter. In my process over the last years I have discovered my own thoughts, feelings, morals, opinions and ideals, thus ensuring I will no longer allow anyone to compress my vivid energy! (I have let friends know where Peter lives, in case he continues his tirade)

In wonderful contrast, through sheer serendipity, I spent several hours that same day, in the company of 2 more balanced men.



In the fall of 2008, lost in thought while eating breakfast, a tap on the patio window drew my gaze. Shockingly, I saw the most staggering sight…a magnificent cougar was calmly sitting on her haunches, tapping on the glass, 15 feet(4.5m) from me. For several seconds, we started into each other’s eyes. I broke the magical moment with a frenzied adrenaline rush of ridiculous counter invasion antics. I flew from my chair, ran onto the deck like a crazed banshee, and attempted to shoo her away, brandishing BBQ tools that I pounded on a plastic pail…

Undaunted my my wild gesturing and high pitched shrieks, the graceful cougar, tilted her head my way, as if to say, “I’m not here to harm you but to remind you of your animal side… to tell you to allay your fears, and wrench open the bars of this domestic prison…run into the wild…rekindle your spirit and reclaim your instinctual self.”

Even as the literal person I once was, I knew the cougar visit meant more than a mere animal sighting. Even the scientifically minded Park Warden who visited me to garner cougar details said I should feel blessed, cougars being extremely elusive. Having recently survived 2 brushes with death(sepsis 2006 and life threatening anemia 2008)I began the process of seeking a less contained life. I needed to release my firefly from the jar, before the light of my spirit diminished permanently.

Captured Fireflies

The rigidity of my body, crippled by arthritis, indicated I had lost the flow of the sensual, the creative, the naturally instinctual aspects of woman. I needed to find my voice and use it, operating less from my head, and more from that place of deep ‘knowing’, within my core. Part by part, I have had to reclaim myself, disentangle myself from the static amalgam that was my marriage.

My maternal Grandmother, below, looks like a woman who had urges and desires, that begged to be expressed. Her enigmatic smile, like the Mona Lisa’s, has a depth, an inner knowingness. 

Look into her eyes and see the pulse of life!

And this a woman, who maintained her inner spirit, despite being contained by an ambitious husband, who believed in sowing his seed. A set of twins, my Mother and Uncle, followed after this photo was taken. A few short years later, my Grandmother died in childbirth, exhausted from this life.

Material Success Sublimates my Grandmother”s Lust for Life

I too have yearned to live the life of a free and expressive woman. For my Grandmother, and my Grandmother’s daughters, I will uncage my wild woman. 

So for week 18 of 52, I make a solemn promise to myself and to the women of my family who have been starched flat…I will yowl at the moon.