Carnivore Cold

January 20, 2020

Greetings from the pack,

I am in the company of two animals.  They are not companions, perhaps they have only me in common.  It is a tense intimacy.

I don’t think about my health like it’s an accomplishment, or something I was entitled to for passing a test.  I am aware of the demands I put on my body, and what it needs to perform all I ask from it.  I try to be sensible, to eat right, get the rest I need, to keep balanced.   But the state of my physical wellbeing is not a given.  I know better than to think it is a prize I that I can take pride in.

Well, it turns out that is some version of a lie. 

Outside in the brutal, scything cold, is an animal who waits in the dark.  It is one I know well.  He is patient and he is also demanding.  He is waiting because he has to, but he knows I’m aware of him.  Even as I write this he is pacing in the woods behind my house, small puffs of white circling his head.  He is waiting to run.

For nearly two weeks I have kept him waiting.  I was making plans to meet him, ambitious plans, exciting weeks of satisfying, hard work.  But God clapped his hands and laughed, scattered us both into other places.  I barely saw this flicker of lightning in my peripheral vision and then I was sick.

And then not even sleep is something to take for granted.  Nights spent sweating or coughing or sneezing or whipsawed around by whatever conflicting side effects to side effects.  Strange dreams and delirious moments between, looking at the clock and seeing words instead of numbers.  How can it be ‘irk’ o’clock?

There was a wolf inside me.  He had made himself at home almost two weeks ago, walking in circles, then sitting and growling, fangs bared, nervous and angry.  I lay in bed, tried to be quiet, hoping he wouldn’t notice me.  I was still, holding the blanket at my chest, breathing shallow.  I tried to sleep sitting up, since I know that’s what he likes.  I knew if I moved, I would cough.  If I took a deep breath, which I longed to do, it would bring the wolf. 

When I breathed out, I could feel him growl under my ribs, a rough, sibilant rumble.  The dark hours moved glacially past, plenty of time to consider my foolish, paper invincibility.  Until I am tired of breathing in tiny sips. 

And he was done being a wolf that sits and waits until it’s convenient for him to be wild.  Each cough became a growling snap inside my chest.  I could feel him scraping inside me, clawing at my lungs.

I let him go.  I wanted it to be over so I let him do what he wants, just go crazy, and then it will at least be over.  I took a deep aching breath and the wolf attacked.  It went on for an hour, a battle for air, convulsive hacking so violent I hurt my back, until I forgot I was in bed for a while.  The wolf thrashed me like an empty seed sack, whipping his head back and forth maniacally, making his pointless point.

And then he relented, maybe bored with me.  I lay in the dark, sweated through my cotton, the bedclothes scattered.  I could hear the something gurgling in my chest, a rattling wheeze.  I know that is not good.  I know he’s still there.

In the middle of the night, with all of the pride and power forgotten, the ego peeled back, I waited for sleep, my hands folded again, fingers interlaced on my chest, just wanting this one small thing, this little quiet, peace enough to rest.

Outside there is another wolf, waiting.  He is patient but not eternally so.  I heard him that night, only the slightest howl, and then only felt his presence.  He wants to run, wants me to run, he is the echo of a noise that waits beyond the horizon, weeks away, but flying toward me.  Boston.

My running gear is untouched for all this time, the calendar flips accusingly each morning.  I know, I know.  I hear the wolf trotting back and forth outside, looking at the window to see if I am dressing.  Even in this, he knows I am cornered by the animal inside, but he does not care.  Come out, come run, he growls.  We have been together for decades, and he knows me, and he knows he must be relentless.

Our physical health is not a constant, it is not a lifetime achievement that we can wear like a victor’s wreath.  It is also not always up to us; we are still beings subject to the vagaries of our environment, to accidents and virus and just random things.  Our well being is easy to take for granted, to simply accept the tremendous gift and shrug and go on each day.  Until you are pulled onto your back by a wild snarling thing to remind you.

It’s easy to slip into the fable of the two wolves inside us, the stronger one being the one that’s fed. In this case they are neither good or bad, they are simply following their nature.  There’s another, it turns out, that wanders amidst this small pack.  It is Canis Hubris.  The pride animal.  The one who can devour you, can blind you to your frail existence, can cause you to forget that each breath is a gift, not something you deserve because of your near-godliness.  He was run off by my other companions, who, for good or bad, know better.

It is light now as I write this.  I am looking out into the snow and I can see the running wolf waiting now, looking right at me.  He is standing, braced against the day, his fur riffled by the winter wind.  He is here to give me courage against the wolf in here pacing behind me.

 I feel you.

  

Hope this finds you knowing your wolf,

David

Copyright © 2020 David Smith