Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes.  That is the book.  Of all the books, for me, this is the one on top.  My first copy fell apart.    I somehow was lucky enough to stumble upon it at the right time. A wise woman gave it to me, she knew I was ready. I read it when the words could be soaked in.  When the messages and lessons could mean something to me.  I have a new copy.  It is all marked up too.  There is magic for women in this book.  

I thought I would pick one passage to write out as a gift for you all this week. I found though that I couldn’t pick just one.  So I am going to write a few from one of my favorite chapters. My guess is that there are needs out there by this tribe of women for different words. So I wonder which ones are for you?:)

Let there be no mistake, when a woman makes efforts to intervene and fight her demon, whatever that demon may be, it is one of the most worthy ballets known.  ….  Even though she might, as in the tale, hit ground-zero-minus-fiver bottom via famine, capture of injured instinct, destructive choices, and all the rest, remember, at bottom is where the living roots of the psyche are. It is there that woman’s wild underpinnings are.  At bottom is the best soil to sow and grow something new again.  In that sense, hitting bottom, while extremely painful, is also the sowing ground.   P. 237

The central psychic fact remains that our connection to meaning, passion, soulfulness, and the deep nature is something we have to keep watch over. P. 242

Our challenge on behalf of the wild soul and our creative spirit is not to merge with any collective, but to distinguish ourselves from those who surround us, building bridges back to them as we choose.  We decide which bridges will become strong and well traveled, and which will remain sketchy and empty.  And the collectives we favor with relationships will be those that offer the most support for our soul and creative life. P. 244

Too, too many women made a terrible vow years before they knew any better.  As young women, they were starved of basic encouragement and support, and so filled with sorrow and resignation, they put down their pens, closed up with words, turned off their singing, rolled up their artwork, and vowed never to touch them ever again.  A woman in such a condition has inadvertently entered into the oven along with her handmade life.  Her life becomes ashes.  P. 246

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