After the ultimate tragedy, we went walkabout, She, my wolfdog, and me. We walked for mile upon mile, until the miles became meaningless. We crossed mountains and rivers, with no real course in mind, confident that the end of the road would find us and not we it.
A shaman watched us from up high, in the guise of an eagle, leading us ever forward towards his mountain abode. When at last we arrived, he bade us sit by the fire and made me tea and have water to She. “What are you looking for?”he asked me. I had to think for a while.
After wetting my throat, I finally croaked: “A home for my soul, if such a thing exists, Grandfather. I’ve been running around aimlessly for far too long.”
“The soul needs no home,” he spake, “for it is timeless.”
“A goal then,” I persisted, “or a sense of direction.”
“The direction is forward!”, he spake, “The goal is to live life.”
“This is getting me nowhere.” I muttered, but the old man had heard.
“Nowhere starts here.” the shaman spake,”The direction is forward. Follow the Wolf and you shall know all.”
I looked at She, whose head was in my lap. Her trusting eyes turned up to mine. I had a revelation then: The soul is at home any which where, when it loves unconditionally!
I thanked the old man, who had set me free and we left, She and me.