Lyra The She-Wolf
My personal path
This is the story of Lyra the She-Wolf. This is my story.
My early years were a mix of scarcity and the earth’s richness. I grew up in a pink house under a palm tree, where a man in a wheelchair always sat, smiling, longing for company.
We were an Afrikaans farmer’s family—Mamma, Pappa, six children—surrounded by poverty, farm animals, corn, peanuts, African farm workers, and a devoted African Mamma-housekeeper.
Memories of early years include heat waves on dirt roads, water canals with tadpoles, sand where I played with my imagination as my only toy, and a life filled with animals, water, plants, and a deep dependence on nature. The sound of Zulu chants and Afrikaans radio stories echoed around me.
We had many sibling fights and connections of non-connections, in a stiff sitting room behind books. With disconnected parents who did not love each other. I sought comfort in the church, my church, inside me, at a very young age. I could dream the most beautiful dreams and had endless inner conversations that shaped my identity amidst siblings who both nurtured and avoided me, and parents who loved me but also did not see me.
My father left at a young age, when I was 12 years old, and my mother was left to raise us, kids, on the farm. She took over the farm and developed it into a very successful business. She was even named “Farmer of the Year”. She married a man who was emotionally much weaker than her, but he was the love of her life. They stayed together until the end of their lives.
As a teenager, I experienced love, heartbreak, and the disappointment of strained relationships. The marriage didn’t meet my expectations and made me realize my flaws as a mother and partner. Divorce was turbulent, but I also found comfort and always carried the burden of being responsible for failing or losing. My children three children were born: a girl named Therese, after a great-grandmother of German descent, who became the beauty I always dreamt of as a child. The middle child, Hellmuth, was born with neurodiversity that I never accepted, which led to his tragic suicide at age 24. The last boy is a creative soul with immense love for broken-wing people, animals, and the earth, around him.
When I was young, I often felt like a “princess,” seeking love from my dad during family troubles—a princess working alone through her own created fairy bush. Now, as an adult, I find myself dealing with being a caring but sometimes overwhelming Mother, oscillating between wanting to nurture, feeling the feeling of not being good enough, and running to a space of nothingness.
My life work culminated to serving children and being angry for parents not satisfying their kids needs. Trying to brake my own cycle of :I could not satisfy my child’s needs and my parents could not satisfy my needs.”
My Cultural path
My upbringing was greatly influenced by the cultural heritage of poor white Afrikaners. My grandfather received a piece of land as part of a community development project for poor Afrikaner upliftment after the Boer War. This culture was steeped in conservative values and racial tensions, where men were dominant, and women were seen as inferior, akin to animals. Growing up in Apartheid, we didn’t sit on the same chairs or drink from the same cups as our workers, yet they were my best playmates and safe space.
The traditions, beliefs, and customs of my upbringing were deeply rooted in this culture. Growing up in Afrikaner society, I struggled with ideas about gender roles, racial hierarchies, and the dominant presence of religion. In apartheid-era South Africa, I witnessed the clash of ideologies, the resilience of the human spirit, and the lasting impact of ancestral conflict. In fact, I still see it in this my and previous generations.
My Ancestral path
Reflecting on my ancestors’ legacy as rebellious Voortrekkers, I am reminded of their bold decision to leave their homeland rather than conform to a foreign culture and British authority. They took what they owned and ventured forth in search of a new land. The rebel archetype resonates with me, embodying an unrestrained spirit dedicated to achieving freedom. From the pioneering nature of the Voortrekkers to the enduring heritage of resilience and defiance, I inherit a tradition defined by unwavering resolve. This legacy has shaped my identity and propels me towards my aspirations.
Conclusion: My Myth.
Lyra: The She-Wolf
In the Arctic’s icy realm, where winds wail like a choir of forlorn spirits and snow swathes the earth in a glistening white caress, there lived a legendary she-wolf named Lyra. Born with fur as white as the untouched snow and eyes that sparkled like the aurora borealis, Lyra was always the outsider. Her luminous fur stood in sharp contrast to her pack’s muted greys and browns, setting her apart as a mystery among her peers. Nevertheless, Lyra’s heart pulsed with a fierce love for her pack, and she pledged to defend them with every ounce of her being, regardless of her status as an outsider.
She traversed the expansive tundra, his nimble shape threading through the frosty landscape, ever watchful for dangers hiding in the shadows. Over time, Lyra’s renown as a protector flourished. A maverick, she defied her pack’s conventions, yet her commitment to their safety never faltered. She steered her pack with insight and kindness, navigating them through severe winters and meager hunts. However, it wasn’t solely her stewardship that distinguished Lyra; it was her bond with the Arctic spirits. She engaged with the timeless entities that ruled the wilderness, seeking their counsel and safeguarding for her pack.
During a harsh winter, when the Arctic’s chill was relentless, a blizzard swept over the land, threatening to engulf everything in its frosty clutches. The pack nestled close for warmth, their breaths creating mists in the biting air. Amidst the tempest’s fury, Lyra stood resolute, her white fur merging with the tumultuous snow. Emitting a deep howl that resonated through the icy wilderness, she summoned the spirits for fortitude. Astonishingly, the blizzard abated, as though yielding to Lyra’s indomitable spirit.
Her steadfast resolve and bond with the earth had rescued her pack from a grim fate. Henceforth, Lyra was honoured as a mythical figure among the wolves. Her story was softly spoken within the pack, handed down through the ages as a testament to the inner strength they all possessed, and the significance of accepting one’s essence, even at the cost of being different. Although Lyra was an enigma, she was eternally linked to her pack, a protective spirit overseeing them from the Arctic’s vastness.