Losing the Wild – On Community, Dionysus, and Longing

The past three days, I have felt more like myself than I have in months. Z suggested it was our eight mile walk on Saturday, working to loosen and ground me. The winter has been, well, a New England winter. So I have not spent much time outside of the apartment, lately. I think another part of it is getting around to actually participating on The Cauldron forums. It feels almost like breathing again, talking to others in a community. I have not done that much since the days of Otherkin Alliance. 

It is nerve-wracking, too. A lot of the time, I do not know what to say. I am not sure what new posts I can create. I feel like I am in this limbo place where my experience level is there, but my confidence level is not. 

The night before last, I had a dream that was really upsetting. The only part I can actually remember, is someone accusing me of not being wild. He was not speaking English, so I do not have the exact word he used, but the closest equivalent I can think of is “tame”. Subdued. Domesticated. Broken in. 

I told him he was wrong. I am wild, truly, I am. I just do not show it. He just scoffed. Prove it. 

But, I could not prove it. I cannot prove it now. And it keeps haunting me. 

Last night, I missed Dionysus. It always strikes me as so strange when that happens, considering our track record of encounters together. But it was there, and it was profound. I have not been able to do journeywork for a while; everything when I try is just black, and empty space. But I had to try. 

It was like trying to look at something through a fog, without my glasses, in the dark. Flashes of blurred outlines and washed out colors. Scents like the onset of the cold, blocked. I could not feel the bark of the tree I was pushed against, and I could barely feel whatever it was that was shoved through my belly button, pinning me to the cold wood. 

Nothing happened. I just stood there, vaguely aware of the blood. I could feel Dionysus there, even see him sometimes. He was as cold as the frozen ground. No exuberance, no madness, not even any anger – no life. 

“Wait,” I cried to him. He shook his head, and turned his back on me, leaving me unable to move against the tree. 

His words were not concrete. I could not piece them together into cohesive English. Something about my blood being absorbed by the ground (but, it is frozen, it is too slow! I protested). Snakes, and life, and going under. Not his problem. Done.

He left. Everything felt empty, and sad. Too dead for desperation, and a sense of loss and disappointment hung in the air. Maybe his, or maybe just mine. 

I am not tame. But I sure do act it most of the time. My fears keep me quiet. Make me keep my head low, terrified to look up and see how I impact the world around me. Only wild when absolutely cornered and there is no other option. Only wild when I feel absolutely safe and know there is nobody who can destroy me, because I am strong, and I am loved. Only wild, when the desperation to feel entirely alive creeps into my veins.

But, that is not wild enough.

About Reconstructing the Labyrinth

Hello! My name is Bri, and I run the blog Reconstructing the Labyrinth. I am a pagan who works primarily with the Minoan pantheon, of which I believe myself to be an incarnate member. I am also genderqueer, pansexual, and demisexual. I have a wonderful, loving partner. I am a mixed-media artist and writer with a great fondness for plaid and amaretto-flavored coffee.
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