Holy She-Wolf Hobo Bag

One day too many months ago to remember I had a vision

of what to do with this magnificent bubblegum pink hide I'd been hoarding for years.

I cocked my head as the muse went on and on about this idea like

"Wait, WHAT? A white wolf that had just eaten a deer? Freshly eaten a deer?"

I don't think it was an accident that this came around the time that I was feeling

more myself again post-baby

and that beyond the wellness I was discovering a huge untapped spring of internal power
that shocked me 

.

I shrugged happily and got down to it.

Getting down to it can take months and months these days

because in between 'ah ha!' and 'finit!' there are a lot of dirty diapers

and milestones and tears and drooling and love sweet sweet love.

My son: I am so undone by him in the best of ways.

.

I could easily digress (he is like a fount of growth and fun these days more so than ever before just like all my mama friends said he'd be with each passing week) but I want to share this with you because it's been exciting.

Life-affirming, even!

Punch by punch, hammer tap by hammer tap I've come to the end of the line.

Over the miserable twin humps of a swollen joint and the emergence of carpal tunnel shit

I have carefully and judiciously tapped and punched and stitched.

All that's left are more stitching, riveting and one last complete piece to construct; the top closure of the huge hobo.

I cannot explain what came over me the night I painted the deer's blood on my wolf's beautiful muzzle and snout.

I'd known that was part of the deal the whole time, but when I dipped my brush into the red bottle something inside me quickened.

Something thrilled!

All I wanted to do was shed my clothes and go howl.

Was it a full moon?

I think in our artistry we find the keys to the inner workings of our spirit if we listen closely,

and when the inspiration asks us to go beyond beautiful to interesting or gut

well....

it's a whole new place to explore.

My wolf: she's satiated.

She's wild.

She's all animal grace and mortality.

No tomorrow is promised to her.

She pulls me towards these parts of my own psyche as much as I tooled her into the physical...

our work and our worlds feed each other.

.

The completion (or near-completion currently) of this whole concept

says something very encouraging about my relationship to the work I do.

It called

I listened

in spite of my tame little urban heart

in spite of my head-scratching over the combination of bubblegum pink and fresh blood

Here these things are, trusting me to complete them as I trusted them to remain clear

and they bear with my other formidable responsibilities

like the song that writes itself while you're in the shower

and you think..."hold on just hold on for goodness sake"

and

it does.

Here's to listening more.

Maybe it requires a bit of unplugging

but as I witness the physicalization of what so patiently waited to BE

and then became itself

I for one am happily schooled.

I'm all ears!

xoxox,

Sunny