A wolf would only come so close to you if it hadn’t noticed your presence. You may wonder how that could come to be; you likely have a belief in you, deep and from long ago, that wolves are equipped with keen senses. There is evidence that supports that belief, but there are other matters to be considered too. How was the wind? It has been so windy here recently. People keep bringing it up in my vicinity as they greet one another, and then they look outside together at the gusting leaves, and then they look back at each other with concern and understanding. It is possible that your scent was lost to the wind; it is possible that you had camouflaged yourself in some way that you were not aware of. Now is a good time to reflect on your presence.
Thank you, for being here and for sharing your wisdom. I suppose that I have weeks of weakness. The encounter with the wolf—perhaps you are right that the causality here is not so straightforward—but I felt that the encounter consolidated the fear and confusion in me. I would wake up to find that my body had gone, so I would take solace (refuge?) in the mind. Then my mind would leave, and I could find again my body, find another solace. There is something else too, as you know, and it went into hiding, waiting for reunion. Are you saying that it is me that is hiding it, suppressing its sensibility?
In the meantime, I squint while walking. Sometimes something small surfaces, the strangeness of strangers, the familiarity of family, the strangeness and familiarity in every thing. I cover the blank page with the past. I hold onto the small things like fragments of dreams. Outside my freshman dining hall, in the pitch dark morning, I make a phone call. I find a hand to hold in the waiting room. I return to my bed in the forest. I laugh at the wrong time, I eat with the wrong spoon. Somebody meets me in the sunlight to remind me of the definition of grace. The meeting is the definition. The meeting is the definition. The meeting is the definition. Thank you.