Buried treasure

An email was resurrected last night and shown to me by a dear friend. The date is December 10, 2001, and it came from one of my old addresses (kids, ask your parents or grandparents about WebTV). I can tell I wrote part of it, but … not this part. It’s creepy and cool and … well, fuck it, take a look…

I crave the freedom of the Wolf Spirit. At times, I feel the song ring in my blood, and then it leaves me, alone and cold, at the mercy of the mundane world. Is it my lack of faith in myself? My faith wavers like the dying light of an impending sunset – back and forth, in and out from behind clouds, until it fades blow the horizon, to reappear, however briefly, after hours of lonely anguish…

I know the power of the Hunt. I know the strength locked inside me by fear and doubt. I can’t set it free on my own – only alcohol lowers the bars of my soul’s cage. When I let the Wolf loose, I drew a man I did not know to my side and drove him to his knees, and then proved to another that a battle for dominance couldn’t be won … then I had to come home to responsibilities and roles that must be played. The Wolf retreated into the forest, waiting for me to drink too much again…

Where is the balance between the mundane and the Wild Spirit?

Who was this … and what happened to her?