Victor, who was named The Wild Boy of Domtar (or "Wolf Boy", as he became known in the popular imagination), was discovered in the Manitoba countryside in 1985. Domtar is in the South of Canada, and the villagers captured a boy of about 11 or 12 who had been running wild and naked, even though it was winter.
His body was marked with scars where he had fought with animals and been scratched due to his nakedness. Although the villagers tried to speak with Victor, he didn’t seem to pay attention to what was said, and so it was apparent he didn’t know any language.
At first people thought he was deaf and mute.
All he was interested in was trying to escape.
(adapted from "http://www.dreamhawk.com/anichild.htm")
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3 comments:
Think about being tough like that, so many scars that you were just tough; could walk through the bush breaking branches and not wince.
I felt like this once before, I was consistently bruised up, scarred up, and over a relatively short time, your threshold for the functional maintenance of this state expands, providing some level of numbness if you will; it made me tough.
I love being tough... FEATS! FEATS!
Do you really love being tough, or is it just a way to protect yourself? I think numbness is contrary to the "sensual experience" that I often endorse. There are, of course, infinite ways, to travel through the forest of our lives, but I favour the one that provides the most "feeling". I want to feel the space between the trees, and glide through the bush without breaking a branch. I relate to (strive for)the animals grace and innocence more than thier brutality (toughness). When I howl at the moon it isn't rage, it is a matter of oneness, a melencholic longing to be a part of the whole. Lets recognize the strength of our organized innocence, feats of empathy and compassion!
My favorite "Cat Power" song, Werewolf:
Oh the werewolf, oh the werewolf
Comes a steppin’ along
He don’t even break the branches
Where he’s been gone
You can hear his long holler from away ’cross the moor
That’s the holler of a werewolf when he’s feelin’ poor
He goes out in the evenin’ when the bats ’re on the wing
An’ he’s killed some young maiden before the birds sing
For the werewolf, for the werewolf
Have sympathy
’cause the werewolf he is someone
Just like you an’ me
Once I saw him in the moonlight when the bats were a flyin’
All alone I saw the werewolf and the werewolf was cryin’
Cryin’ nobody, nobody, nobody knows
How much I love the maiden as I tear off her clothes
Cryin’ nobody, nobody, knows of my pain
When I see it has risen that full moon again
When I see that moon movin’ through the clouds in the sky
I get a crazy feelin’ an’ I wonder why
Oh the werewolf, oh the werewolf
Comes travelin’ along
He don’t even break the branches
Where he’s been gone
For the werewolf have pity, not fear, an’ not hate
’cause the werewolf might be someone that you’ve known of late
Oh the werewolf, oh the werewolf
Comes travelin’ along
He don’t even crush the leaves
Where he’s been gone
David
I love what you said about the "sensual experience".
I'd rather squish my toes in the muddy mess of life than have dry feet any day.
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