The wolf within
This is an entry from my journal.
Nights during the last quarter of the moon are dark. The temperature in the mountains drops to low levels no matter how warm it is during the day. Summertime usually lasts until mid-September here. It then gradually gets cooler, while the possibility of sporadic rainfall increases. Cyprus is fairly dry though. It is only during the winter when it rains a lot.
Living outside the confines of any built up area has brought me closer to the natural cycles. I notice the phases of the moon and the trajectory of the sun in the sky. They change throughout the year. What happens with regularity, for example, is that the full moon always rises from the east as soon as the sun sets. Perhaps this is a coincidence, but I have observed it consistently. It is beautiful.
I also notice how total daylight changes throughout the year. We are now well past the summer solstice, meaning that days are getting smaller until they reach their lowest point at the winter solstice. For my hut, this practically means that from around mid-October to mid-February, I have very limited exposure to direct sunlight. I switch off the desktop computer at around 14:00 hours and work on the laptop to prolong battery capacity until ~22:00. If I do not do that, I will run out of power early in the evening.
Me and the dogs go for a long walk in the morning and then at night. It does not matter if it is very dark outside, such as between the last quarter moon and the rise of the new moon. We still enjoy our little adventure. The air is cool, our pace is fast, and we remain alert. I find that this otherwise exhilarating experience relaxes me, even though it would seem odd to consider it a “relaxing moment” like, say, sitting on the sofa to watch TV (which I do not have, anyway).
So what is it that makes the venture outdoors relaxing? I think it has to do with the appeasement of the animal within. I know from my experience training/handling dogs that the most content and reliable animals are the ones that are given an outlet for their instincts: they need to run, sniff around, and, generally, keep their apex predator functions in good working condition. Dogs that are confined to tight spaces all day tend to have accumulated stress, are more aggressive, and less trustworthy. In short, the good dog is the naturally tired dog.
Humans are much closer to dogs and their wolf relatives than some are perhaps willing to admit. Like them, we are gregarious, tribalist, territorial, predatory, socially cooperative and competitive, as well as vainglorious. It is why in many situations homo homini lupus est (“human to humans wolf is”). We do have a more pronounced rational side, though the notion of human as a rational agent quickly falls apart as soon as we observe everyday in vivo human behaviour.
Perhaps, then, the wolf within us is not something to be feared or demonised but to be understood. We need action as our mind seeks to explore new vistas, either literally or through our imagination. For some, this is expressed as a physical impulse for adventure, while for others it is more intellectual. In my case, it is definitely both. I expend a lot of energy doing physically intense activities, yet I still need to satisfy my innate curiosity within the realm of concepts. To me, both are adventures of sorts which keep me calm, composed, and reliable.
Like the dogs that have an outlet for their ferocity, so do humans benefit from some degree of openendedness. Not too much to feel lost and insecure, but enough to appease the adventurer within. At a personal level, I find that pushing myself to new challenges—be it a hard day of physical labour or the elucidation of some concept (or usually both)—makes me more peaceful and, indeed, contemplative. If I am forced to stay in a small space for too long, I feel limited and ultimately disempowered. Perhaps this is why I could not tolerate a career in politics and the office life that goes with it. In which case, everything I experienced as a profound unsettlement is down to the disturbance of the wolf within.
To me, no amount of meditation or whatever spiritual practice is a substitute for openendedness. Like the apex predator, I need to put myself out there, to roam the wilds, as it were. The more I accomplish in the process, the greater my confidence is in my ability to take care of myself (and any others, by extension). Thus, the visceral fear of unsafety is kept in check and I can then focus on contributing to culture.
It may be that the suppression of the wild animal engenders an elusive uneasiness and concomitant lack of confidence which, in turn, produces a subtle yet persistent disturbance in the person’s mind. One may then be sad or somehow in need of a change of scenery, without realising why.
I am speculating rampantly here, though I can tell that when I rise to meet a challenge head on, I do it with intensity and alertness. There is neither complacency nor fear in those moments. I tap in to my potential and commit fully to the task at hand. This is because I am not trying to suppress the wolf within, but to instead transform its ruthlessness into a constructive force.
My nature is highly competitive, though this is only inward. I do not measure myself up to others. I simply try to push my own boundaries. If I can walk for one hour while talking philosophy, I want to reach a point where I can do this for two hours, and maybe three, and so on. There is no real target. The goal, or perhaps the precondition of my tranquil life, is to continuously find new frontiers; to howl in valleys I have not yet traversed.
I carry on with my work. There is no moment where I feel lazy about it. Every day I have the exuberance for yet more action. This wolf is not going to be tamed any time soon, I guess… So I conclude with this poem, which I will publish separately in the poems’ section of my website:
Man and wolf
When man and wolf are one
there is but lightness
Dark are the spaces
where individuality is suppressed