Wolfsisters describe their images of our virtual den atop Star Mountain...
I see the den as rounded with a huge warm fire in the center. We sit, steam coming off our mugs,in rocking chairs, chaise
lounges - some leopard skinned, comfy couches, thick luscious rugs,
hammocks and swings . There is a huge kitchen
table with wooden chairs. And sisters everywhere...moving, talking,
laughing, sharing, holding a silver mirror lost in thought, drumming
and dancing to their own rhythm....
I see the sand road winding up the Mountain, from the campfire circle
at Starlight Springs, through thick trees, past big rocks, up and up,
to a set of huge wooden doors. set right into the mountain itself.
These doors open into our wonderous den deep inside Star Mountain.
It is a huge cave, renovated by industrious wolves, into a magical
place. We enter a foyer, to hang up scarves and take off boots. Ahead
of us is the Great Room, with its long table where wolves gather for
meals. A massive fireplace occupies one whole wall, and a fire is
always burning. Webs of the writing spiders stretch across the
corners of the high ceiling. There are rocking chairs near the fire,
soft chairs, pillows, and blankets and shawls to wrap up in for long
chats far into the night. A hallway leads deep into the mountain, and
there are rooms off the hall for each wolfie - their private spaces.
There is a small chapel, where a candle is perpetually lit, in memory
of our sisters who have crossed the Veil.
A doorway down the hall leads out to the dolphin pond, and to an
outdoor fire circle where we gather for our PMP rituals and other
special occasions.
Leo and the guardians move silently in the shadows, a reassuring
presence that we are safe and protected. A rustle in the underbrush,
moonlight glinting briefly off a shiny helmet, and we know the war
chickens are camped nearby, ready to spring into action should an ISP
attempt to withhold den mail from any wolfsister, or there is a
serious laundry issue...
There are a few shuttered building, abandoned by former sisters,
which await renovation.
And always, there is a feeling in the air of excitement, for the pack
is always moving through life, growing, changing, experimenting,
succeeding, failing, fighting, singing, laughing, loving...
Winding down the back of the Mountain is a trail that sisters follow
who decide to strike off on their own. Standing at the head of that
trail, looking at the footprints that lead down the Mountain, is not
a sad thing. Wild Women must be free to stay or go, as they wish.
Some will come home again, and the pack will be waiting...
I see exquisite creatures that morph at will from full boned women to
sleek ruffed wolves, and back again. There are gardeners and tree
pruners and quilters, and storytellers and moonwatchers and artists of
all kinds, a place where each woman wolf finds her calling and
contributes to the whole in her own way. Each is both teacher and
student, depending, so all are considered equal.
I hear music and laughter and distant rumblings of thunder, and the wind
playing through the pinetops, and above all, sisters raising their
voices to sing of life.
Sometimes there is a gentle fog that wraps around the sleeping ones, bringing to them healing sleep and restful silence and tickles noses when it is time to wake and touches our fur with a soft sprinkle of twinkling dew. There are rocky outcroppings where we can go to get a clearer view and see with our minds eye the things that are often hidden. We can stand in the sunshine or moonlight and lift our faces to be kissed by their loving touches and race through the trees to touch noses with a sister in greeting. Or we can come down and play under the graceful boughs of the firs and cypress trees, with the tingly spiky scent of their needles under our paws. When we are soul weary we can dive into the sparkling waters of the dolphin pond and when we are chilled we can settle into the joyfully bubbling jacuzzi and giggle and laugh and snort our drinks through our noses.
Somewhere on the Mountain is a clearing—not a circle, not a square, always just a big as we need—just a space without borders where we gather to dance in celebration of moving through a difficult time, or rally around each other in sympathy and love to mourn the passing of a beloved sister, or to decorate our tree with our own ornaments, or sing out our encouragement to a sister facing life changing challenges... or to lay in the grass with our bellies full from picnics and just enjoy being in the company of each other.
And on one very special night of each month we gather under the peaceful, healing glow of Full Moon to send out our love and PMP to the universe—in thanksgiving for all that we have received.
This is how we see the Mountain
What is the flow of email like?
Swampy offers
a glimpse into the ebb and
flow of our high volume list.
PMP Tuesday