Wild Heart: A Call to Have a Soul-Filled Life. {poetry}


In my work in Jungian analysis, the metaphor is the vehicle to understand imagination and soul. So many are afraid to say it: the soul. Yes, soul.

The study is depth psychology, but we study the soul. In my private work, I’m hesitant to offend someone by mentioning soul work. Soul work is the work of the brave. This poem is about something I’ve always felt in relationships: stuck, trapped. Perhaps not the right relationship? Perhaps not the right time? Perhaps soul work.

My soul imagines a wild horse, trapped and yearning for its wild nature. Not an uncommon metaphor. Wild horses and wild hearts alike will understand this story as a call to have a soul-filled life, to live wild and fully.


If you look carefully
Way in the distance
You will see the most beautiful creature
Long mane flowing, free

As you breathe in
She breathes in and exhales
An exerted snort
Of long travels behind her

Her unbridled passion, strength
Unbeknownst to her

She is a wild heart

She runs free
High in the mountains
Softly treading the hillside
Imprinting the sand
By the ocean

It was not always this way

In her life
She was presented time and again
With a beautiful corral
With the most beautiful dark wood
The highest of fences for her safety
Soft places to lay

Built and constructed carefully
For her safety

And she sometimes succumbed
That perhaps
This was her destiny

She would then
Eat too much or too little
Her body became unfamiliar
Her movements stiff

Her body ached
In her dreams there was a song
She knew the melody
But the song, oh she was always
Too distracted by the silence, to hear it

At night her legs
Would twitch and shake, kick
She would have dreams
Of running
Chasing nothing
But time

Sometimes in her life
Her wild heart understood
The trade-off for her freedom
Constructed meals
Constructed smiles, constructed time

Outside the fence
In the wilderness, in the unknown
She belonged

She jumped high and hard
There was a stumble
She was unprepared for
What it would take

She was injured

She stopped

But her near-death was worth her trade-off

And she continued

Healed day by day
Her heart became her own
Beating in unison with all that was around her

They would look for her
She could hear them call her name
Beckoning, bribing
Soon she didn’t recognize that name

It didn’t belong to her anymore
Her new-found freedom was much more than a name

In her wild heart
The days themselves
Were enough

She had just enough food
Just enough space

Freedom was her fit
And she was enough

There is a tale
Of her capture
Of how they managed
To rope her
And bring her to her knees

Her heart
Surgically removed
Only to be replaced
With one they owned
One that beat less wild and fast

However, I know her
I see her breathe

If you don’t believe me
Look far into the meadow
Into the forest
Listen to the ocean
Into your own heart

She remains free

The story they wrote
Is only one they tell
So no others understand
The possibility of escape

She will live a shorter life
Than living in days of captivity
But, oh dear reader,
What glorious days of freedom
She will have lived.


Jodi WiumJodi Wium is a depth psychologist studying the work of Jung at Pacifica Graduate Institute. Through life and loss, she has learned where her heart belongs, and hopes — through her writing and her research — you do as well. Namaste.


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