Luckily, no porn came up this time. Although, I did get the usual ads about singles looking to meet me in my area. So stupid. I usually ignored such crap, but tonight I glanced to see, to prove to myself, for some inexplicable reason, that none of them held a candle to my Lex. They didn’t. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wade through too much of that kind of stuff to stumble upon some stories. Some I’d read before, but I considered myself fortunate enough tonight to find a few new ones, too.
A common theme among the stories seemed to be that they had been interested in wolves their whole lives. I thought back, but I couldn’t deem my interest in them as a kid as anything more than the fact that they looked like wild dogs to me. I’d been obsessed with dogs. Might have had something to do with the fact that I’d never owned one. My mother had been allergic. After she’d passed, I wouldn’t have asked my father to have to care for anything else. Even though I could have cared for it on my own, that’s what he would have said right after ‘no’, and I had enough to think about anyway. By the time I got my own place, I only moved into this apartment, and it had strict rules against pets.
After I first started seeing my wolf in dreams, though, I became interested, of course, but I wouldn’t call it an obsession even then. When something keeps reoccurring in your life, you eventually look into it. I chalked up my failure to have this original interest to the childhood I’d had. I’d had a lacking in my life since I was ten and my mother had fallen sick. That, of course, was the same year my wolf showed up, that I can remember at least. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt, of having missed something very important by being wrapped up in my own dilemmas.
I’d had no so-called spiritual connection with wolves, not as so many others claimed to have, nor had I had an incident involving real wolves. One woman had met a real wolf in a parking lot as a child. Another had gotten lost in the woods, running into a pack pf timber wolves who stayed with her until help had arrived. Many were of Native American descent, too, so I just seemed to lack the right characteristics all the way around.
I actually wanted for similar experiences, more so as I read. One girl had grown up with her wolf, it being young when she was, and growing up into an adult at the same time. She’d had a psychic connection with her white wolf, able to read its thoughts, learn what she needed to about life from him. Another common theme, though this one I could relate to, was the wolf showing up during a hard time in life. As well, they locked eyes with the animal and felt it had something to tell them.
I still would swear, tonight, that when I saw my wolf, that the wash of feeling over me was not mine, but his. I hadn’t been feeling anything like that mix of love and anger; that couldn’t be explained. Could an animal be mad that it loved me? If that were the case, what did that say about me? I had to be mistaken. There had been times in my life that I’d chalked up to some misguided intuition as writer’s brain, the need to create stories where there weren’t any. I did that on a regular basis, anyway, people watching and writing the stories of their lives being a prime example. Sometimes I did that in bars to pass the time. I should have thought of that this weekend, but I’d been too focused, preoccupied more like it, on seeing Lex walk in. So focused, in fact, that you’d have thought I’d have willed it into being.
I wondered why I’d always referred to my wolf as a he, but I just somehow knew. I’d never questioned it. Not that I had ever gotten a glimpse to tell, but when my wolf spirit was near, the presence felt tough, dominant, alpha, masculine. A primitive strength of stature... the way I sensed that he sat there, physically able to control any situation, to be able to find that last ounce of power deep within his being if it was needed to win.
Come to think of it, I’d never felt any real emotions from my wolf spirit, and that was another reason I’d always assumed a male, or imagined it male. There’s never been a rush of emotions like tonight. In the study of masculinity, the rationalization and or suppression of emotions was deemed a prominent characteristic. I was overthinking it all, though. Even tonight, emotions or not, my wolf still felt male. I couldn’t not wonder, though, what had changed that had allowed me to feel them, him or me?
I sat up straight and adjusted myself, along with my computer on my lap, when I read a link that claimed to help you prepare for your journey to meet your spirit guide. I wondered if there was something more I could do to call the animal to me. It stated rather firmly at the top of the page, in all caps bold print, that the animal chooses you and not the other way around. I’d already been chosen. Now, I just wanted to be able to communicate better with my wolf, and at times of my own choosing. The idea of it fluttered in my chest. You’d think I was overly caffeinated the way my pulse raced. My eyes flew over the words on the pages, a fight between racing through the information and actually absorbing it.