Surviving the Cold: A Black Wolf—Vision Quest, an Awakening
In the Smokey Mountains, I faced freezing temperatures, fear, and a vision of a black wolf. In surrendering to the unknown, I found strength, resilience, and awakening.
The Smokey's held me, tested me, and transformed me. In the silence of the wilderness, I found the wild within.
The Smokey's held me, tested me, and transformed me. In the silence of the wilderness, I found the wild within.
The Cold's Grip
The cold had always been an enemy, something I spent years avoiding. I left Colorado behind, convinced that warmth was my ally and cold my foe. Even after all my backpacking journeys—traversing from Tijuana to Central America, climbing a volcano in Antigua—nothing compared to this. Nothing prepared me for the depths of cold I would face sleeping raw in the Smokey Mountains on this vision quest.
Facing the Fear
The first night, as I lay in my sleeping bag, I watched the temperature drop—twenty-six degrees. Then twenty-four. Then twenty-two. The air grew thin, sharp, slicing through my layers, my skin, and seeping deep into my bones. My body was still, paralyzed by the cold, but my mind raced, thick with fear. Would my sleeping bag fail me? Could blood freeze? Would my organs shut down?
I knew the science of the human body. I understood the body’s resilience. But in that moment, logic crumbled beneath the weight of sensation. I felt everything—every pulse of blood, the filtration of my kidneys, the rhythmic thump of my heart, blood moving through my veins—pulse by pulse—thump, thump, thump, thump. My body was alive, fighting to survive. But my mind was consumed by fear, trapped in a desperate need to surrender.
The awareness of my own aliveness became overwhelming. I felt the pulse of my blood, a steady rhythm, like a current flowing through me. The blood, thick and warm, filled my chest and moved, surging softly into the chambers of my heart. It pressed gently against the walls of my veins, as though each beat carried not just life, but purpose—an endless cycle of movement, breathing life into every part of me. I could feel it—flowing into my right atrium, then passing through to the right ventricle, ready to be sent out with a forceful beat, a release.
There was an almost imperceptible pause, and then the blood surged, as if it was drawing in its breath, preparing to flow out through the pulmonary valve, toward the lungs—where it would take in new life, inhale oxygen, and return stronger, more vibrant. I could feel it coming back to my heart, recharged, flowing into my left atrium, through the mitral valve, and into the left ventricle. It was like the whole of me was pulsing with energy, with movement, as though each beat was the heartbeat of the earth itself.
Then, with a final, grounding push, I felt it leave—pushed out through the aorta, sending life to my limbs, my brain, my soul. The rhythm was constant, unwavering—a miraculous loop of life that needed no reminder, no instruction. It just was. And in that moment, I trusted it. I trusted that my body knew what to do, that it would keep moving, keep flowing, keep breathing life into me. And that trust was enough to let go. I closed my eyes, knowing that even as I lay in the cold, I was alive, and that was enough.
The Black Wolf's Visit
I finally allowed my eyes to close, accepting that if I were to freeze here tonight, this would be my last breath. And in that moment, I was okay with that. I let go. I surrendered.
Somewhere between lucid sleep and a trance-like state, the black wolf appeared.
It felt real.
I could feel its paws pressing into my body, its black face hovering over mine, its gaze fixed on me as though I were something to be studied, an enigma. I could hear its breath—slow, steady, deliberate. The presence of this creature was immense, unshakable. Fear coiled inside me, tight and consuming. This is it. This is the end of my life. I accepted that, in this moment, I might be eaten. That I might not wake.
Then, a voice. Not spoken, but felt—an instruction rising from the depths of my being.
“Focus on your breath. Synchronize with the wolf. Match its rhythm.”
I did as the voice instructed, aligning my breath with the wolf’s, inhaling when it inhaled, exhaling when it exhaled. Slowly, I lifted my hand toward my face, instinctively seeking protection. As my palm moved, I felt it—a cold nose pressing against my skin. A breath, warm yet unfamiliar.
My eyes fluttered open.
And there, before me, was not a black wolf. It was Georgia.
Georgia, the small rat terrier who had accompanied my friend and me on this journey. She was trying to keep warm, pressing her tiny body against mine, her paws resting gently on my chest.
Relief flooded through me. It had been a dream, but it felt as real as the breath I was now taking.
The Moment of Surrender
I lay there, overwhelmed with gratitude—not just for life, but for the undeniable truth that we are more resilient than we believe. Fear is a threshold, and beyond it lies something deeper—something ancient, something true. The black wolf was never just a wolf. It was a messenger, a mirror, a guide. And I had met it, not with resistance, but with breath, with presence, with the unwavering knowledge that I could endure.
The cold did not defeat me. The night did not consume me. I emerged, not just alive, but awakened.
The Learning Takeaway
In facing our greatest fears, we are often confronted with an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. We tend to believe that survival depends on fighting or running from what threatens us, but what if the key to transformation lies in something different—surrender?
Surrender isn’t giving up; it’s the act of letting go of control, of trusting that even in the face of fear, we have the strength to endure. The cold I faced in the Smokey Mountains was more than just a physical challenge. It was a reminder that true resilience doesn’t come from fighting against what scares us, but from embracing it fully—without resistance, without retreat.
When I surrendered to the unknown, to my body’s innate ability to survive, and to the wild energy of the world around me, I found something unexpected. I discovered not only my strength but my capacity to grow beyond what I thought possible. I became something greater than the person who first walked into the mountains. The cold did not break me. Fear did not consume me. Instead, I emerged awakened, transformed, and more aligned with my true self.
This journey taught me that by surrendering—whether to the cold, to fear, or to the unknown—we give ourselves the freedom to awaken our true potential. True transformation happens when we allow ourselves to face what we fear most and realize that it holds no power over us unless we choose to resist it.
Embracing the Wild Within
This journey was meant to test me before my birthday, to place me in the heart of winter’s embrace and see if I would shrink away or rise to meet it. And I did. Not by fighting, not by running, but by surrendering—to my body, to the unknown, to the wildness within and around me. And because of that, I did not merely survive. I became something greater.
Explore Your Own Vision Quest
Have you ever faced your deepest fears and come out transformed? Share your story of survival, surrender, or awakening in the comments below. If you're ready to explore your own journey of resilience and self-discovery, check out my upcoming classes and events here and take the next step into the wild within.
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