The Wounded Wolf and the Whisper of the Divine

The Wounded Wolf and the Whisper of the Divine

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

On the night of March 21, 2025, around 2 a.m., I had a dream that shook something loose in me something deep. It wasn’t the kind of dream you forget by morning. It lingered, settling into my bones, refusing to fade.

In the dream, I stood in an open space, a place that felt like a crossroads between the world I knew and something beyond it. The air carried a weight, a presence that didn’t need words to be felt.

Then, out of the shadows, it came a black and gray wolf. Its fur was streaked with blood, its body worn by battles I couldn’t see but somehow understood. But it wasn’t the wounds that caught me off guard. It was the eyes.

There was something ancient in them, something heavy with sorrow but steady with knowing. This wasn’t just any wolf. This was a messenger. A reflection.

The wolf didn’t shrink away, and it didn’t bare its teeth. Instead, despite its pain, it moved toward me deliberate, unafraid. And then, as if it had been searching for me all along, it pressed its body against mine. Not in weakness, not in desperation, but in recognition.

As if it knew me. As if it always had.

I felt everything in that moment not just its wounds but my own. The unspoken struggles, the silent battles I had tucked away. And something in me cracked not in despair, but in understanding.

I woke up with tears in my eyes and a weight on my chest that words couldn’t explain. But I knew this wasn’t just a dream. This was something more.

That wolf was me. Every scar, every unanswered prayer, every time I had whispered into the dark, wondering if the Creator was still listening. And yet, the wolf didn’t hide. It didn’t pretend it wasn’t wounded. It sought connection. It leaned in.

How many times had I done the opposite? How many times had I convinced myself to push through, to act like the pain wasn’t there? To be strong, because that’s what life seemed to demand?

But that wolf its quiet act of trust taught me something I hadn’t let myself accept: Strength isn’t about pretending we’re unscathed. Strength is in seeking healing. Strength is in knowing we don’t have to walk alone.

And in that moment, I felt it that whisper in my heart. I see you. I have always seen you.

The Creator doesn’t turn away from the wounded. The Divine doesn’t abandon the weary, the broken, the ones barely holding on. But how often do we turn away from ourselves? How often do we bury the parts of us that are desperate for healing, hoping they’ll disappear if we ignore them long enough?

But they don’t disappear. They surface through dreams, through whispers, through unexpected moments when the soul decides it’s time. Time to stop running. Time to heal.

That wolf was every soul that’s ever been battered by life but refuses to give up. That wolf was every prayer I’ve ever sent into the night, every time I’ve wondered if I was walking alone.

And yet, despite everything, the wolf came. It found me. It leaned in.

And in that, I understood something I hadn’t before healing isn’t something we have to do alone.

So if you’re reading this and you feel like you’ve been carrying your pain in silence, hear me: You are not forgotten. Your suffering is not invisible. The Divine is still walking beside you, still reaching for you, still calling you toward healing.

Even the wounded belong in the grand design of the universe. Even those who feel lost are never beyond the reach of love. And even in the darkest night, there is a whisper soft but certain saying:

I see you. I have always seen you. And I will never let you go.

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