Wild Soul

We all have hidden soulful obsessions that we at times fight to deny and at times surrender to, giving them free rein.  At times we wonder if the battle between wildness and safety will tear us apart. We might try to choose safety, but a true wild heart will not be denied. It entices and seduces us, daring us to admit our longing to follow the haunting song of deep yearning.

We are afraid that if we follow that siren song into the deep fire we will merge with the core of blackness that ignites the blue flame. We try to force ourselves to enjoy only the warmth of the orange glow, but find the deeper center too tantalizing, too persuasive to resist. Some people turn their back and never answer, but I need to heed the call.

What is that haunting refrain that wakes me in the dark and creeps into the edges of my dreams, beckoning me into the unknown? At times I am afraid that I will awake and find that I have chosen to follow where it leads. Other times I am afraid that I have turned away and the song will abandon me and find another dancer.

Why does the unpredictability of the northern lights dance rhythmically with the longing in my heart? I have never seen the Scottish Moors, but somehow just those words call to me. What am I looking for?

Our inner passion wraps around us like a warm wind, caressing our skin. Kiss me here we cry, but the wind laughs and moves on responding to no master. So we look outward, to another person hoping to see the reflection of our passion in their eyes. Or perhaps a reflection of our true worth. And if we see a glimmer of what we hope for we open our hearts and believe that we have found a soul mate, someone who will bring our passion into an earthly form. We forget our inner secret, that our passion lives deep within us and can never be found in another person.

Perhaps this is the reason we so badly want to fall in love. We are looking for a sense of permanence, someone we can hang on to who supplants the call of our wildness. We substitute the love of another for the love of ourselves, hoping that the urges to run knee-deep in the pounding surf will fade away.

My father told me I would outgrow this yearning, though he never outgrew his. I am sure he worried that I would follow these voices into dangerous unknown places. He relentlessly hoped in vain that I would choose safety over the wild pounding heartbeat of my soul. And yet he knew that as his daughter I would follow in his footsteps and hang on to my waywardness.

Even though he died over 30 years ago I can still feel his spirit around me, cheering me on. I have to wonder if he is vicariously enjoying my courageous adventures, rejoicing in the fact that I did not heed his warnings so very long ago. Because I think these are my gifts, the ability to listen to the song of the sirens and not crash into the rocks, and to share that gift with others, teaching them to sail towards their passion between the dangers of Scylla and Charybdis.

The reward is great, even though our hearts might break and our souls wander untethered. It is this true adventure of life heals us. People will warn you to stay close to shore where you will be safe. But just like ships, our hearts and souls are meant to sail in tempestuous waters and answer to wild winds.

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