connection to the true wild

February 24, 2013







A friend posted this  quote from Clarissa Pinkola Estes this morning, I wold like to share with you these wise words to remind you  to listen to that call from the wild


The way to maintain one’s connection to the wild

is to ask yourself what is it that you want. 

One of the most important discriminations we can make
in this matter is the difference between things
that beckon to us and things that call from our souls.
When we are connected to the instinctual self,
to the soul of the feminine which is natural and wild,
then instead of looking over whatever happens
to be on display, we say to ourselves,
“What am I hungry for?
” Without looking at anything outwardly, we venture inward and ask,
“What do I long for?
What do I wish for now?
What do I crave?
What do I desire?
For what do I yearn?”
It takes spirit, will, and soulfulness
and it often means
holding out for what one wants.


Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Be Wild, Be free

August 1, 2011

FREEEDOM oil pastel sketch, digitally enhanced



One of my all time favourite women C P Estes,  who seems to write from a place that touches my soul, posted  this poem on facebook this morning,  it sure resonates with me.  It is a  poem about choosing a new life, letting the wild wolf lead you on a new journey…………..

So many of us get stuck with the demons, as we get older we allow the demons to keep us small, never straying from the known.  But there is a time in our lives when the wolves and the demons can beckon us, let the wolves win, let them steel you away, take you to that place of wildness where life looms large, where uncertainty makes us grow and rise to any challenges that comes our way.  We may get tipped off the path, fall now and again, but our wildness and the keen senses of the wolf will keep us alert, alive and full of passion.

The call came to me in my 40’s, thankfully for me I chose the wolf, life turned on its head, I grew beyond measure.  It take scourage to run with the wolves, try it, you will never look back.



My children grown, the old folks safe in the TV room.

I climb onto the sled made of my chest bones, sinew from my guts,

bundles of food and water wrapped in my own scarred belly skin.

All is fastened down with rope made from years

of my long hair taken from my brush.

My wolves bite the air. It is snowing like a dunja slashed.

My wolves nudge, nudge; they know we are going at last.


O my children, look out the window and see

your mother riding over the edge of the world.

O my Mother, O my Father, raise up out of your bandages

and bottles. See me vanish straight into the stinging sun.


But no, my parents rattle and creak in their sleep;

my offspring are busy with where to place noses while kissing. . .


My family so sleeping, they do not hear the traces as they pull

from out the frost, snapping taut, flipping snow shatters.

My lead males rise in their shaggy frocks;

their paws make mice sounds in the snow.

and we are off in a silver spray,

over the edge of the globe,

my mighty ocean of fur and steam,

stealing me for a future time and place.


The plumes of my wolves tails fly us forward

and we ride, we ride, through ponds of stars

that sashay back and forth on their sky ribbons

as my sledge runners divide them.


Now begins a storm of paper sheet—

barrels and barrels of scrip,

reams and reams of white page,

brown bag, envelopes, all these

dropped by mill hands with muscled arms

and rolled-up sleeves

who smile down on us and cry,

“Go on! Go on!”


All the paper I never had.

All the time I never had.

All the flesh and guts of my life

stored here on this sled,

and I have been lucky enough

to be stolen by wolves

for a future time and place.


As one gathers more years, the mind

can be carried off by demons

or stolen by wolves…

and both will inevitably show up.


Choose the wolves.



and, I would say to you too dear souls:

Leaping wolves will ever make life bigger

even though the sledge might veer and tremble as it flies…

whereas squatting demons will ever keep life small…

otherwise they wouldn’t be called demons,

for they do not rise in harness for your ends, but instead

want to force you into harness for their ends.


I know you know the difference.

Wise words from a very wise lady – Clarissa Pinkola Estes


The way to maintain one’s connection
to the wild
is to ask yourself
what is it that you want.

One of the most important discriminations
we can make in this matter
is the difference between things that beckon to us
and things that call from our souls.

We choose a thing because
it just happened to be beneath
our noses at that moment in time.
It is not necessarily what we want,
but it is interesting,
and the longer we gaze at it,
the more compelling it becomes.

When we are connected
to the instinctual self,
to the soul of the feminine
which is natural and wild,
then instead of looking over
whatever happens to be on display,
we say to ourselves,

“What am I hungry for?”
Without looking at anything outwardly,
we venture inward and ask,
“What do I long for?
What do I wish for now?
What do I crave?
What do I desire?
For what do I yearn?”

It takes spirit,
and soulfulness
and it often means……….
holding out for what one wants.– Dr. Estes

The Joyous Body

February 8, 2011

The Joyous Body: Part Three of “The Dangerous Old Woman”

live broadcasts by CPE on Sounds True

“It is the nature of the saplings to quake in the winds; hesitant, learning to hold their own places. But, the older trees, with their years of testing and being tested, they are the ones who, whether in the long stern winds or misty gales, sway the most. Less a bouquet of tentative trembling first-time buds, now much more the leaf-perfumed hips of a hundred wide women dancing—these old ones, regardless of form, sway, by heart, to the music that thunders through them.”
—Clarissa Pinkola Estés, PhD

The Joyous Body – Clarissa Pinkola Estés.

Who is the protector of this Precious Being who is my body?

Who is the one charged with guarding and protecting the Life Spark in this Radiant Being’s eyes?

Who promised to watch over to the best of her ability?

Who promised to overcome the inertia taught by a large part of the over-culture…

that once you are struggling, you must remain so, and only so.

Who is the heroine of this mysterious, often perilous and sometimes triumphant mythical life of mine?

It is me…

and Creator,

and …any stalwart soul

who joins me in love,

who blesses down hard

for the strength and longevity

the very prosperity

of my body, of our bodies….

whomsoever and in whatever shape

or condition, those dear ‘blessing people’

–or I– may be.

“THE 90:10 RULE”


Whatever goodness
you are pursuing,
When you speak
of whatever you are pursuing,
speak of its goodness
so that others are amazed
or enlightened
or calmed
or awakened gently…
rather than speaking only
about the difficulties of it all
so that others become disheartened.
The ratio                  between speaking…


Clarissa Pinkola Estes


Meeting with so many people, perfectionism is something that I come across so much, it can be so crippling and disruptive in one’s life, I know because I struggled with this too.   I read this letter from Clarissa Pinkola Estes a few days ago on facebook, and thought I would like to share it with you all here.  She manages to describe the feelings and the background to these insidious feelings so well.

The mask- oils. oil pastels, and layered digitally

Dear Brave Souls: Just some reflections about a kind of perfectionism that insists on ‘highest standards from self and others.”If one carries this attitude, one can be sure one fails daily. One starts one’s day by secretly saying ‘Today I, the grand perfectionist, will fail in many ways, for I shall not be able to be perfected in each thing I do, say, enact.’ Not today. Not on any day.

Looking at perfectionism from that angle, it appears a wicked curse has been placed on a person… that is that they are supposed to sabotage their contentment and peace each day. They are spellbound to act against the wisdom and logic of their own souls.

I’ve heard all the reasonings from those who call themselves with a little too much pride, seeming, perfectionists. Sometimes it sounds as though the person is actually somehow proud of this, even though the dimmest observer can see their chosen perfectionism is not only making them miserable… it is often making others who care about them, miserable too.

Perfectionism is demanding. And the seeming pride in perfectionism is a smoke screed for sadness. Oddly, in one who has developed vast perfectionism ranting at self and sometimes at others, what is least developed is mercy. Mercy for oneself, and mercy for others. And that is where the sadness comes from, the sorrow that one walks this world without mercy from within first and foremost.

There is a punitive aspect to spellbound perfectionism, as though punishing or criticizing or condemning self and others is somehow alright, to be expected, and that one can have gallows humor about it all. It isnt alright. It is cruel. Cruel foremost to oneself. And cruel to others. And cruel because it destroys relationships with decent people. Again, the spell carries a curse that there shall be no resting place, no contentment.

There are other nuances to perfectionism, such as strong resistance to surrender it… which is our clue to that not only has an evil curse been put on the child spirit of this person, saying they will never and ought never accept themselves or others, and that others ought not accept them either, for they are so defective…

but also that somehow the perfectionism is armor… a false armor to be certain, for perfectionists’ hearts can be broke, they can have life befall them, lose their jobs, be bereft, even though driving toward perfectionism with all the drive possible.

So, holding to such perfectionism is not what it appears to be on the surface, an earnest striving to do all things perfectly, but rather perfectionism appears often to be striving not to be seen, critiqued harshly, punished, exiled… ah then, we have clues to the original curse and can spell break it.

If perfectionism is in some large part a plea to ‘let me live, please allow me to take up space on this earth, please let it be alright that I am alive, please do not find me unworthy of life, please have mercy on me and I will promise then if you will let me live… then I will grovel in perfectionism and I know this means I will live cursed, failing each day to be perfect, up to your standards, all of the rest of my days… but I will forfeit myself if only you will please not leave me, please do not harm my spirit. Please let me live.”

In this sense, perfectionism is an armor that looks like Swiss cheese. It protects nothing in the end. And more so, beacsuse the abusing parent has spellbound an innocent child this way, they have also bound them in an even more sinister way to keep trying to please the cruel parent, keep thinking if they only this or that, the parent will love them unconditionally, that the parent will at last, come back to them and be kind and be sheltered, wise and good.

This is sometimes called father hunger or mother hunger, hping that by being good, this will turn the parent good. But even that, the father/ mother hunger is set into place by the brute parent, who uses that hunger to continue to berate the child, not grown, that they are not enough to receive this fabulous love, that they never will be.

What we call father/mother hunger when it is aimed at the ill or deficit parent over and over again, is actually a straw man set up by the prevarivating parent so the child will never do to them what they did to the child: abandon them.

When this spell is broken, the adult child realizes that real and true mother-father hunger is not for the ill parent. It is for ANYONE who will be decent, good, merciful, loving, listening, wise with them.

This is an important differentiation: The child who is free of the curse of the father or mother who doesnt want them but doesnt want anyone else to have them either, will then choose strong good people as parents of the soul and heart. They will find the true parents they belong to. They will no longer be once-born and twice cursed. They will be twice born and free to live new life.

But looking back over many an adult child’s life who thinks they are ‘not good enough’ and thereby compensate that wound with the flimsy armor of perfectionism…. more so, we know, from the tone and timbre of the underlying plea to the abandoning parent, that being spellbound into perfectionism occurred in the perfectionistic person, likely as very young dependent child who was given message after message that they were a big inconvenience, that the child could not be as no child can be, ‘the perfect child,’ meaning the fully controlled child by another…

and that therefore, for being a mere child, a beautiful, precious child, they were called out, shamed, humiliated …and told ‘be perfect or else daddy/ mommie wont love you, mommie or daddy will leave you’…. mysteriously or remaining in full sight but empty hearted toward the child.

Nothing terrifies and freezes a child’s heart more than knowing when they are in such need and so vulnerable as tiny children, that the rock of their life, will not be there for them… and that the parent blames the child for the parent’s own cruel faithlessness toward their own needful child.

This, if so, is terrorizing a child. There is no deeper cut to a child than to sever their security that no matter what, no matter WHAT, they will be loved.

The way back to true home, is this. Rout all old parental assault from your mind. No one has a right to live in your head saying these deleterious things to your child spirit day in and day out. Secondly, go make some minor errors on purpose. This also is freeing, literally bashing back at the parental voices in one’s head that do not belong there. Take a friend to be witness to your mistakes. Make them small and harmless. You may find these humorous, for you are breaking a law you never agreed to abide by. Good for you. Go for it.

You see that the curse cannot hold especially when you can laugh at it. Thirdly understand you are an adult now, not a poor little dependent child who truly would die without their parent’s protection. Now you take care of yourself well and in ways you were not taken care of then. This is what is called self-care, self-comforting, and also this is called growing the good mother within.

Though it may have taken only minutes or days and months to harm a child so deeply that it would take the child years to find their way out of the spell and back into true life, it is every soul’s birthright to bulldoze the house of torment in their own minds and to build there a warm cottage in which live two kindly souls who are ever happy to see you.

So much decontaminating of the mind is an act of prayer, mercy and goodness, pointedly practicing changing the radio station from all screed and no news, to the kind and fierce wisdom station.

This is within everyone’s reach. The spell is over when you say it is over. No one has a right to own another human being, not even psychologically and certainly not spiritually.

You were born free. Take it back. Take it all back. It is fine that you take up plenty of space on planet earth. Despite addled nay-sayers to the contrary, it always has been so that you were meant to be…

I send love,
excerpt from Warming the Stone Child, book ©c.p.estés, Chapter: Ways to Know You Are Healed Well Enough.

The Stone Child

June 14, 2010

The original abandonment, the original abuse, the original horror has some reason and meaning in it. It is not senseless. It is not like being run down like a dog on the highway. Its meaning most often is the development of tremendous strength, tremendous power, tremendous intuition. And I will tell you frankly that most of the people who are the greatest healers living on the face of this earth are unmothered children. One of the great gifts of the unmothered child – and also the healer, and the writer and the musician and all those in the arts who live so close with their ear against the heartbeat of the archetypal unconscious – one of their strongest aspects is intuition.”

Be proud of your scars. They have everything to do with your strength, and what you’ve endured. They’re a treasure map to the deep self.”


THE FOLLOWING STORY IS AN OLD INUIT TALE – Told by Clarissa Pinkola Estes on Audio CD  Warming the Stone child.  I recommend this , you can find it here

There was an orphan that was so lonely and so hungry that no one wanted to be near him.  His mouth was open all the time and his teeth were always showing and tears were always running down from his eyes, and he was so wild with hunger that they had to tie him in the entrance to one of the skin houses so he’d not try to eat the hunters on their way to the seal hunt; that’s how hungry he was.

They would, on occasion, leave him some rancid reindeer meat or maybe some spoiled intestines to eat, but, as we know, it was more than hunger that was gnawing at him.  Those deep needs that not even the person themselves understands.  So everyday he stretched his chain a little bit and a little bit more, until he could get near a stone that was more or less the same size as himself.  You see, his mother and father had died one night, and their bodies had been dragged off by bears, and all that had been left behind by them was this one particular stone.  So he wrapped both his arms and his legs around that rock and he wouldn’t let go of it.  And, of course, his people thought he was crazier than ever, and on their way home from the hunt, with animal carcasses slung over their shoulders, they would jeer at him, and they would say, “Analuk has taken a stone for a wife, ha ha.  It’s good for you to have a wife who is a stone, for then you cannot use your hunger and eat her.”  And they went on their way.

But the boy was so lonely and so hungry that he really had reached the end of his feeling for life.  And even though he had that terrible loneliness and that gnawing hunger, he kept his body wrapped around that stone, and because the stone began to take the heat from his flesh, the boy began to die.  The stone took the heat from his hands, and then it took the heat from his thighs, and it even took the heat from his chin where he rested it on top of the stone.

And just as the boy was living his last breath, the hunters of his village came by again on their way home from the hunt, and again they called him down, and they said, “You crazy boy!  You are nesting with that stone like it is an egg.  We should call you Bird Boy, you good-for-nothing creature.”  And because the boy was near death, his feelings were hurt more than he could ever say, and great icy tears began to roll down his face and across his parka, and his cold, cold tears hit the hot, hot stone with a sizzle and a hiss and a crack, and it broke the stone right in two.

And inside was the most perfect little female the boy could ever want.  “Come,” she said, “I am here now, and you are an orphan no more.”  And she gave him a bow and arrows and a harpoon she had brought with her, and the boy and the girl made their house and had babies.  And, if they are not yet dead, they are in that land where the snow is violet and the night sky is black.  They are there, living still.

Be stone stupid

March 24, 2010

I recently came back from teaching a workshop about the Hero’s Journey, this quote I plucked from one of my most favourite books of all time,  just about said it all.

Be wild; that is how to clear the river. The river does not flow in polluted, we manage that. The river does not dry up, we block it. If we want to allow it its freedom, we have to allow our ideational lives to be let loose, to stream, letting anything come, initially censoring nothing. That is creative life. It is made up of divine paradox. To create one must be willing to be stone stupid, to sit upon a throne on top of a jackass and spill rubies from one’s mouth. Then the river will flow, then we can stand in the stream of it raining down.” — Clarissa Pinkola Estes (Women Who Run with the Wolves: Contacting the Power of the Wild Woman)

Being stone stupid is Just like THE FOOL who starts his journey around the TAROT, he steps out on his own epic journey of the Hero.  He’s uncomplicated, doesn’t worry about whether he makes a mistake or not, lives live joyfully without fear of embarrassment or failure.  He is jubilant, he is joy, and he sees the world has so many possibilities available to him.  He embodies the energy of  the hummingbird archetype, the little bird with courageous ambitions and who feeds from the sweet nectar of life.

The Fool Tarot card illustrated here is a deck by Japanese illustrator Yoshitaka Amano.  See more of his work here

The wild woman

March 27, 2009


intuition“Having a lover/friend who regards you as a living growing criatura, being, just as much as the tree from the ground, or a ficus in the house, or a rose garden out in the side yard… having a lover and friends who look at you as a true living breathing entity, one that is human but made of very fine and moist and magical things as well… a lover and friends who support the criatura in you… these are the people you are looking for. They will be the friends of your soul for life. Mindful choosing of friends and lovers, not to mention teachers, is critical to remaining conscious, remaining intuitive, remaining in charge of the fiery light that sees and knows.”

— Clarissa Pinkola Estes (Women Who Run with the Wolves)


Women who Run with Wolves has to be for me, the most moving, insightful and inspirational book I have read………………….    finding ones connection to the “wild”, our intuition, keeps us in that moist magical place where we create abundance from our heart