by Maura Coyne WAKING WILD

Gone Hunting — Call Back The Lost Parts Of Your Magic & Mission-Driven Soul

PAN

By Maura Coyne

I want to scream the kind of rage that leaves my mouth like scratching thunderbolts, striking dead the words that caused my pure, sweet self to go underground.

I want to ride you, Black Panther. Through the forest at Mach speed, and hold tight to your silken neck fur as you climb a tree and perch there for a while – surveying the landscape of my past.

I want to dive from a cliff on your back. Flying through air, wings on my back, softly landing in the sea and diving deep, swim-searching for my buried pride. Swim me deeper into the soft waves, Cat.

Where are you pure, sweet part? Where did you go? How could you leave when I needed you most? How could you fold under the pressure of iron demands, and the world’s reflection that I was not enough? Or was that my idea, my reflection?

O, Black Panther, how you came to me one day and one hour after I decided that I needed to wear Truth on a necklace right over the strong place where my voice resides. How your whiskers shift at the sense of approaching danger and wicked half-truths, just like my heart does.

Elusive Black Panther; night wanderer, you have spots. Black on black – no one can see these spots, until they get close. They think your velvety coat is one solid dark heaven. Camouflaged-spots interrupt the darkness, ever so slightly.

But, you strike with your mighty lone claw and all the innocence your amber-honeyed eyes hold is lost.

Won’t you go into the forest with me and find my lost tender piece?
Won’t you wrestle the demon that holds it captive?
Won’t you use your magic to return it to its rightful owner?
Or will you crush it with a loving blow, burying its old magic in the dirt?
Protect me, Black Panther, I know not what lies ahead.
You, Roar.

I need to learn your lessons, Black Panther. I need to speak the truth, even when it hurts.

You are who you are. Moving through the moon beams like a ghost, and not making excuses for your desires, for what you know.

Help me to remove this mask. Show me how to find that little piece of me – small, but so important and full of dust of the generations, full of change and transformation.

Carry that part of me, back to me; in your truth-dripping teeth, your independent jaws. My giving, my shameless longing, my fierce softness. Breathe it back into my body and tell me it belongs to me. I left it on a salty tear-stained trail. It became too heavy to carry into the fog, but it was a mistake.

Reclaim the strength of my rough, mission-driven soul. The part of me that holds the energy of a thousand unknown huntresses, buried in my bones, dying to be heard. Resting between feline paws, sleeping in the bliss of holy purpose.

You, Black Panther, contain the mystery of the SHE. Find her for me: she is so tired of the wreckage.

For more self-study, The Urban Howl recommends The Universe Is a Green Dragon: A Cosmic Creation Story.

"Deep bow to you for admitting your rage, for women frequently have their anger invalidated more than any other emotion. Feminine ire is holy hellfire, and you have a soul-deep right to feel your rage. One of the greatest, energetic obstacles to forgiveness is the inability to release emotions deemed by the New Age, spiritual by-passers as “low frequency,” “devolved,” or any other number of names implying that our feelings, and therefore our very souls, are naught but illusion." —Danielle Dulsky of @wolfwomanwitch #HOWLFORMEWOLFWOMAN Read more: http://bit.ly/2lEOpXk Image: @r.h.sin

#BLACKPANTHERWOMAN

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