From the internal arises a heat, and from the throes of such heat comes the animal within. Such violent primitive emotions do come from the essence of man without spirit, the meaningless set of values without value, the loss of Being in humanity. Yet come they do, and in the absence of Spirit to subdue the animal within, man simply reverts to the lesser of his self.
In my experience it appears at times as if man can only act in the absence of spirit. Such violent sense of nothingness can be met with much of the same or act in a much different sense of self. Violence is the lesser form of man, a Beast, but it would seem a form sometimes that is unable to hide itself. Such form is the dichotomy of man, turning the industrious willer of good into a destructive force of nature.
In such a thing the Lone Wolf has indulged. In his life he has resolved to pacificism, then violence, and now to the mixture of the two that survives him today. The Beast has shown itself on more than one occasion, surely leaving its mark of lust and misery. Creation had given the Wolf the talents of the beast along with the talents of a peacemaker, and to such ends both had shared success and failure. At times the Wolf, feeling gray in his years, longed for the tinge of control the Beast allowed, but left such thirst to the gods of time passed and challenge wasted. The scars of the Beast remained on his body, while the glimmer of Spirit remained in his eyes. It was such spirit that seemed determined to keep the Beast in slumber, as to not to allow its return regardless of the heat of the day. Today's heat presents such a challenge.
It seemed to the Lone Wolf that all things must remain as they are despite the idiocy of the world around him. Others in their packs stayed true to the lies of the pack, and dismal paradox of behavior not understandable. They would invent such provocation in others to warrant the attack, while preaching preach and love. To the Lone Wolf is was quite apparent they had lost their way, that they were so blinded by the value they had in the pack that they could not see they were leading it to disaster. It seemed obvious that others were working in sincere diligence to destroy the thing they claimed to love the most, so much so that it also seemed obvious that they hated that which they said they loved. Why else would they be so determined to destroy it? Warfare had never "created" anything, and the endless attacks on the packs around them seemed to create the exact opposite of what they were intended to create. Pack leaders, often left remote by poor leadership and bad decisions, quickly undertook such attacks to keep unity in the ranks. When the lead dogs made the wrong turn and water become scarce, and attack on others materialized, and the attack and the "threat" it was designed to end became the focus, not the mistakes that led to the thirst.
Sad state, these affairs, and as the snow turned red with the blood of hatred and blindness. The Lone Wolf marveled at how much he could see without the blindness of the Beast, he could clearly see the anger others could muster in those who followed without question, he could clearly see the threat that such blind allegiance could create. Patriotism, once the foundation of the pack that ensured its survival, seemed to be the thing that ensured its demise. He with no allegiance could easily see such folly, with no leader to subscribe one could easily see the failures of such subscription. No, the independence of his individual self, the strength that all that is provided his Spirit was enough to get him through the toughest of days. He needed no pack, he needed no leader, he needed to die for no thing or no one save those the voice of his Spirit directed.
That was not to say the Lone Wolf did not love. He loved often and freely, without prejudice and without bias. Still, he knew when to keep his distance, although his love did not. He could love those he would fight, he could love those he did not agree with. Such was the freedom he could enjoy in the unattachment his life had provided. He need not hate any thing or any one, he need not care what they thought despite his pleadings that seemed to be saying the contrary. He could bare his teeth as if to hate but out of love, for the hoping the sight would end the foray before it began. When it did not, he did not hate his adversary, but rather felt sorry for their mistake, that if just to leave him alone would be quite enough.
It seemed amazing that there were others who just could not leave him alone. They needed him to think like them, to assimilate into the pack. He could only surmise that they feared his independence. It was true that the leadership did, for a pack without the need for leaders had no need for them. They, the leaders, were weak without they, the followers. They were nothings, the leaders, without those on whose fear they could prey. If the followers only saw the strength in such independence, the leaders would become nothings. For their part, the pack feared his independence, for there was some comfort in knowing that the sum of the whole was the whole of the some. If they all were alike, in thought, action, need and desire, there would be no need for fear, no need for greater security.
In this, the battles they waged were not about threat of others, but the threat of others to the selfs that the pack had created. Those others did not think like them, smell like them, or howl at the same moon so they had to be a threat. They needed to assimilate or risk the pack's security. After all, there is no greater loss of security to the pack then the loss of dependence, whether leader on the follower or the follower on the leader. Dependence is security, and the thought of independence raiding such security was insecurity into itself.
It was all so eerily apparent to the Lone Wolf the day he found his independence. He sought higher mountains, thicker forests, clearer streams and air so pure it cleared is mind of thought with each breath. He sought to roam where his Spirit took him, not where some drone deigned it proper for him to go. He raised his head to the Moon, and howled a yell that told the world around him, every creature that he was free, and that he was alive.
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