As the darkness was leading the way. I woke to find myself in a coach driven by ancient Silverwolves who come from the worlds of myth,
They are magical creatures whose instincts remind us of our own animal self sometimes. They are guides of the goddess and signify the need for the herd. The immortal hunger to follow the Moon Mother...
Moon, as their mother, is the womb. To her, they howl, and their howl is one of unfulfilled longing.
When I listen to their haunted voices, I hear a wild uncontroled cry for freedom. Their cry is for Life. for the wild somewhere deep. Deeper than the forest, deeper than the waters. It is a feast of Fire, a quest for love.
Moon looks down and smiles. She throws her pebbles into the lake which the Silverwolves drink from. I can see their reflection in the water. Their magnificence shines from their iced eyes as they hold up their heads to pause and look across the horizon.
I see them, although I pretend not to, as I am so-called sleeping.
Then the ceremony begins as the largest of Wolves lays back its head and starts howling. Such a pure, unique sound, so compelling, so intense.
The wolf plays its internal string instrument, its howling haunted instrument, higher, higher. One by one, the other three wolves join in until a symphony is made of sacred sounds.
Then Mother Moon speaks, "My greetings, my silver ones." Her voice is dark and slow, it seems to come from the water. "What did you bring me?" she whispers.
The leading wolf steps up to the coach where I lay in. With its teeth, the wolf lowers the thick woolen blanket, then turns its head to face the Moon again.
Suddenly, the water is set in motion as Moon starts to speak. "It is she," says Moon. "Earthen, my empress."
I feel how a gentle hand strokes my face. When I look at the lake I see Moon reflected. Her face is old and lined. Her hair is white and touches the water. She has a smile so warm that I can feel it land on my cheek like the soft kiss of a mother.
"My crown of knowledge," she says while a thin rain falls on my face.
A few drops hang like honey on my lips. In her nightly beauty, Moon stands at the foot of the coach. Her eyes shine like crystals as she smiles and puts back the blanket as if she would tuck in a child. "Go and be a Wisdom Woman..." she whispers, Her hand waves farewell.
When I look at the lake, Her image is swept. Only the blue of the lake is there. I see myself reflected. A child, with dark eyes and a layer of thin light blond hair. The Silver wolves howl once more. Then the coach is set in motion, moving fast forward. Over mountains, through valleys, we go, and the journey has begun, to begin.
"Where are we going?" I ask my sleep.
Dream does not come. Only awake.
I am shaken by the speed of the coach. I clutch at my blanket.
"Where are we going?" I ask the night.
Night does not hear. Night does not catch up with the speed of the coach. It seems to fly above and between light and dark.
'Where are we going?' I ask myself.
And somewhere, something or someone seems to speak the word, "Home."