The Legend of La Loba

As told by Clarissa Pinkola Estés, PhD, Women Who Run With the Wolves​:

"There is an old woman who lives in a hidden place that everyone knows but few have seen. As in the fairy tales of Eastern Europe, she seems to wait for lost or wandering people and seekers to come to her place.

She is circumspect, often hairy, always fat, and especially wishes to evade most company. She is both a crower and a cackler, generally having more animal sounds than than human ones.

​They say she lives among the rotten granite slopes in Tarahumara Indian territory. They say she is buried outside Phoenix near a well. She is said to have been traveling south to Monte Alban in a burnt out car with the back window shot out. She is said to stand by the highway near El Paso, or ride shotgun with truckers to Morelia, Mexico, or that she has been sighted walking to to market above Oaxaca with strangely formed boughs of firewood on her back. She is called by many names: La Huesera, Bone Woman, La Trapera, The Gatherer, and La Loba, Wolf Woman.

The sole work of La Loba is the collecting of bones. She is known to collect and preserve especially that which is in danger of being lost to the world. Her cave is filled with the bones of all manner of desert creatures: the deer, the rattlesnake, the crow. But her specialty is said to be wolves.

She creeps and crawls and sifts through the montañas, mountains, and arroyos, dry riverbeds, looking for wolf bones, and when she has assembled an entire skeleton, when the last bone is in place and the beautiful white sculpture of the creature is laid out before her, she sits by the fire and thinks about what song she will sing.​

And when she is sure, she stands over the criatura, raises her arms over it, and sings out. That is when the the rib bones and leg bones of the wolf begin to flesh out and the creature becomes furred. La Loba sings some more, and more of the creature comes into being; its tail curls upward, shaggy and strong.

And still La Loba sings so deeply that the floor of the desert shakes, and as she sings, the wolf opens its eyes, leaps up, and runs away down the canyon.

Somewhere in its running, whether by the speed of its running, or by splashing its way into a river, or by way of a ray of sunlight or moonlight hitting it right in the side, the wolf is suddenly transformed into a laughing woman who runs free towards the horizon.

So it is said that if you wander the desert, and it is near sundown, and you are perhaps a little bit lost, and certainly tired, that you are lucky, for La Loba may take a liking to you and show you something— something of the soul."

More from Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estés : ​http://www.clarissapinkolaestes.com/works.htm

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La Loba speaks to me as the eternal seed of life that does not die.  Ravaged by man and time - sorrowful, yet soft.  The bumblebee on her hand is one my mother drew before she died and I like to honor her where I can in my paintings.  Her fingertips bear the ancient indigenous spiral symbol.

A once majestic saguaro stands long-dead, with only shards of its skin remaining. It is pierced by multiple bullet holes - the fate common to many of today's living saguaros. The spiral emergence petroglyph on the boulder at its feet bears the same scars of human thoughtlessness.  In the background is a rusted shell of a vintage automobile that La Loba uses as a repository for her collected bones.  She burns  a few twigs of holy wood in an abalone shell and sings her assembled skeleton into being. Hummingbirds, messengers of the spirit world, greet the awakening spirit of the wolf.  La Loba may be returning the animal spirits to an ancient celestial home; evidenced by a blue star glowing in the distance.

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