It's been three decades of her being told over and over that everything is impossible, always. It doesn't matter the quest, small or big, the answer is always impossible. The word is ridiculous. Impossible. It means absolutely nothing to her. That wild thing, born in the midst of ancient forests leaning on ancient slumbering volcanoes, brought up at the foot of a cold mountain, raised by fairies. It was that mountain, it taught her how to be an immovable object, how to feel the weight of her own existence amongst turmoil and disaster. The fairies just whispered their secrets, but the immortal stones came to rest in her heart. A bit of a horrid contradiction, considering the chaos that follows her everywhere she goes. But being only one thing at once seemed too boring to her, she wanted to be all the things, all at once. Thus she became fire, she became a snowstorm, she became hail and drought and finally, a rainbow grew in her soul. She became all the things, impossible, everything is possible.
So how do you deal with that, with an immovable object, a mountain: something like me. How does it fit into the framework of someone narrower, stricter, whose rules are absolute guidance? How did you learn how to survive all those years, the wild thing asked the flying Dutchman. And he answered: by plotting my way around the mountain. It was that simple. Analytical. Intelligent. Possible.
Wild things aren't unlovable, undeserving, unruly. Once you learn to truly appreciate their cunning beauty, the eternal feisty loyalty to the cause of your heart, once you give everything and beyond; there will be nothing else. The fire will forever warm you, the snow will mesmerize you, the rain will soothe you and the heat will imprint eternity. At the foot of the mountain is the beginning of a rainbow. May it lead you around, navigate your course, to where fairies and unicorns dwell. Never try to go through, that way is only pain and loss.