Manual Wild Moments: Reveling in Natures Signs, Songs, Cycles, and Curious Creatures

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A desert is a place where life is very condensed. The roots of living things hold on to that last tear of water and the flower hoards its moisture by only appearing in early morning and late afternoon. Life in the desert is small but brilliant and most of what occurs goes on underground. This is like the lives of many women. The desert is not lush like a forest or a jungle. It is very intense and mysterious in its life forms. Many of us have lived desert lives: very small on the surface, and enormous under the ground.

La Loba shows us the precious things that can come from that sort of psychic distribution. So often a woman feels then that she lives in an empty place where there is maybe just one cactus with one brilliant red flower on it, and then in every direction, miles of nothing. But for the woman who will go miles, there is something more. A small brave house. An old one. She has been waiting for you.

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But they are disappointed, for the lush and the wild is not there. Go back and stand under that one red flower and walk straight ahead for that last hard mile.

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Go up and knock on the old weathered door. Climb up to the cave. Crawl through the window of a dream. Sift the desert and see what you find. It is the only work we have to do. You wish psychoanalytic advice?

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Go gather bones. Stalking the Intruder: The Beginning Initiation Bluebeard In a single human being there are many other beings, all with their own values, motives, and devices. Some psychological technologies suggest we arrest these beings, count them, name them, force them into harness till they shuffle along like vanquished slaves.


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Rather than corrupt her natural beauty, our work is to build for all these beings a wildish countryside wherein the artists among them can make, the lovers love, the healers heal. But what shall we do with those inner beings who are quite mad and those who carry out destruction without thought? Even these must be given a place, though one in which they can be contained. One entity in particular, the most deceitful and most powerful fugitive in the psyche, requires our immediate consciousness and containment—and that one is the natural predator.

The contra naturam aspect opposes the positive: it is against development, against harmony, and against the wild.

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It erupts in the midst of their most soulful and meaningful plans. It severs the woman from her intuitive nature. When its cutting work is done, it leaves the woman deadened in feeling, feeling frail to advance her life; her ideas and dreams lay at her feet drained of animation. And so we begin. How it came to the convent no one knows.

Some say it was the nuns who buried what was left of his body, for no one else would touch it. Why the nuns would keep such a relic is unknown, but it is true. She says the beard is blue, indigo-colored to be exact It is as blue as the dark ice in the lake, as blue as the shadow of a hole at night. This beard was once worn by one who they say was a failed magician, a giant man with an eye for women, a man known by the name of Bluebeard.

But they were frightened of his beard with its odd blue cast, and so they hid when he called. In an effort to convince them of his geniality he invited them on an outing in the forest. He arrived leading horses arrayed in bells and crimson ribbons. He set the sisters and their mother upon the horses and off they cantered into the forest. There they had a most wonderful day riding, and their dogs ran beside and ahead.


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  • Later they stopped beneath a giant tree and Bluebeard regaled them with stories and fed them dainty treats. Yet, the two older sisters' suspicions and fears returned and they vowed not to see Bluebeard again.

    Wild Moments Reveling In Nature's Signs, Songs, Cycles, And Curious Creatures. ISBN:

    But the youngest sister thought if a man could be that charming, then perhaps he was not so bad. The more she talked to herself, the less awful he seemed, and also the less blue his beard. So when Bluebeard asked for tier hand in marriage, she accepted. She had given his proposal great thought and felt she was to marry a very elegant man. M arry they did, and after, rode off to his castle in the woods.

    Invite your family here if you like. You may ride in the woods, charge the cooks to set a feast, you may do anything you like, anything your heart desires. In fact, here is my ring of keys. You may open any and every door to the storerooms, the money rooms, any door in the castle; but this little tiny key, the one with the scrollwork on top, do not use. It all sounds very fine. So, go, my dear husband, and do not have a worry and come back soon. Her sisters came to visit and they were, as all souls are, very curious about what the Master had said was to be done while he was away.

    The young wife gaily told them.

    The castle was three stories high, with a hundred doors in each wing, and as there were many keys on the ring, they crept from door to door having an immensely good time throwing open each door. Behind one door were the kitchen stores, behind another the money stores. All manner of holdings were behind the doors and everything seemed more wonderful all the time. At last, having seen all these marvels, they came finally to the cellar and, at the end of the corridor, a blank wail. They puzzled over the last key, the one with the little scrollwork on top.

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    When they tried to open it again, it was firmly locked. Surely this is the door for that mysterious little key. The lock scolded, the door swung open, but it was so dark inside they could not see. They slammed the door shut, shook the key out of the lock, and leaned against one another gasping, breasts heaving.

    M y God! The wife looked down at the key and saw it was stained with blood.

    Wild Moments

    Horrified, she used the skirt of her gown to wipe it clean, but the blood prevailed. Each sister took the tiny key in her hands and tried to make it as it once was, but the blood remained. When she arrived, her white dress was stained red from pocket to hem, for the key was slowly weeping drops of dark red blood. Drop after drop of pure red blood issued from the tiny key. She took the key outdoors, and from the oven she pressed ashes onto it, and scrubbed some more. She held it to the heat to sear it.

    She laid cobweb over it to staunch the flow, but nothing could make the weeping blood subside. This is a bad dream. All will be aright. Her husband came home the very next morning and he strode into the castle calling for his wife. How was it while I was away? I lost it Yes, I lost it. I was out riding and the key ring fell down and I must have lost a key. Tell me what you did with that key! Bluebeard merely looked at the door with his fiery eyes and the door opened for him.