Nobody wants the Wildebeast. We all have one, you and I, different though they may be. His Wildebeast would run if it could, run long and hard in circles so big they would feel like straight lines. He would feel his claws – back and front – biting into the ground, propelling himself forward, maybe snatching at a passing branch – or rabbit – with his jaws. You know the beast I mean.
And hers would HOWL. Howl at the moon and howl at injustice and howl in hunger for a greater reach, greater scope, a challenge worthy of the effort. She would stand so tall, looking for more, peeling back the tops of trees for a glimpse of what lies ahead; limitless possibilities.
But now, we see glimpses of them only, fretting at the cages we’ve built for ourselves.