Where is my Lover, the White Wolf?

In the latest DREAMSCAPES entry, comfort in disturbing chaos seems nowhere to be found

I am walking through a small tunnel with a female friend when we see a white creature coming close to us. I tell my friend to run away but I stay. I am a little frightened, but there is no reason for me to be. The creature comes closer, and it is what I thought: a beautiful white wolf. It looks to be in its teen years. We share some silent moments, and then we head off to my home.

My house is carved into the hills of the desert. When we get there, wolf pups and adults trot in circles around me and my housemates. There must be at least two dozen wolves. In the distance I see three wolves heading off to hunt: two are cream colored, and one is pure white. I howl for them to return, and they turn and head toward home. All the wolves follow me inside.

Once we’re all in, I sit myself at the entrance of a play tunnel that each wolf makes its way through to greet me. There are cute little pups, lanky teenagers, and handsome full-grown wolves. I say hello, and pet some of them. I am waiting for the white wolf — my lover. But soon the procession ends, and he is nowhere to be found. I tell my housemates that I am going outside for a moment, and I step out.

Once outside, I begin to howl. I strain my ears to hear him howl back, but all I can hear is the faint sound of a cat yowling. Perhaps he has caught one and is going to eat it for supper. I howl again, and hear nothing. I fly a little north, and hear the cat again but see nothing. I realize that I am becoming quite cold. The desert night offers no warmth.

Suddenly I come upon a huge, threatening group of dogs and men. I realize with horror that one of my wolf pups is in the middle of all the dogs, and they are ferociously chasing him. I scream at the men to call off their dogs.

“He’s only a baby! He is mine!” I cry. The men just laugh. I try to catch my wolf pup, but two men grab me and throw me into a van, which is the last in a line of their vehicles. The engines start, and we are off. Luckily, the back of the van comes off easily, and I jump out. I see a man on the top of the van, and I look at him with frightened, pleading eyes. He gives me a cold stare, and then throws something at me — a sleeping bag. I catch it in my arms, and then watch as the cars roll away.

My feet and fingers are freezing at this point. The sleeping bag can only offer so much warmth. I find a ditch to lie in, but it is not enough. I try to gather all my survival skills together, but I am so cold that it is hard to think. Suddenly I come upon a man in the path. He regards me for a moment, and then, having assessed me, tells me to follow him to his house.

He lives in a big underground room with no walls. I look around for a couch, but I only see a loveseat. I spot a rug on the floor, and I tell him I will sleep there.

He scoffs and says, “You can sleep on the foot.” I am confused. He points to his full sized bed, and then to another twin size bed sandwiched at the foot of it. I understand. I crawl into it, and he climbs into his. But I cannot sleep. Instead I cry.

He reluctantly asks me what is wrong. I sense that maybe he is annoyed, but I tell him most of my story.

“I am a woman of the wolves,” I say. I tell him of all the wolves in my home, the pups and the teenagers and the adults. I tell him of the white wolf, but I do not tell him he is my lover. I turn my back to him and lift up my shirt to reveal a huge wolf tattoo. His eyes are wide. It is a lot to take in.

I wonder to myself if he will make love to me in an attempt to console me. I wonder if I would cry again, for his touch could never compare to that of my wolf lover’s. Would I be compelled to tell him the truth then, or would he figure it out on his own? I sit, waiting, longing for the wild heart of a gentle beast that is nowhere to be found.