Alkaid: A Call to Protect the Wild

From the Great Bear Constellation to the Orcas’ Call for Protection

Alkaid, the distant star of the Great Bear constellation (Ursa Major), whose ancient light stretches across time, feels like a celestial compass guiding me through a maze of synchronicities that seem to shape my coming journey. Your name speaks of grief, death, and transformative upheavals. It resonates with the losses I’ve endured and the eco-anxiety that clouds my generation—concern for endangered species, vanishing ecosystems, and our uncertain future as humanity’s greed relentlessly scars the Earth.

Yet within your light lies the strength of guardianship, a fierce and loving protection—a legacy passed down through the myths of early astrologers. From the southern hemisphere, I can’t see you, and I realize how lost I feel, missing you like a distant lover. My fascination with you is deepening into devotion—a connection to something primal, timeless, and sacred.

In mythology, you are tied to the story of Callisto, a nymph devoted to Artemis, the virgin goddess of the wild. Callisto's vow to remain unwed may have been a secret rebellion—a refusal of patriarchy. Her sanctuary with Artemis and the other nymphs could be seen as a metaphor for women's liberation, a haven of freedom where love and identity could flourish, untouched by societal constraints. But Zeus, disguised as Artemis, seduced Callisto and violated that sacred space. Callisto's exile and transformation into a bear feels like a larger metaphor: the violation of wilderness, purity, and sacred spaces by forces of domination. Yet, there is protection in your story, Alkaid. Your light carries the motherly essence of defiance, a fierce guardianship over what remains untamed, wild, and sacred.

From the Stars to the Ocean

As I prepare to move to Canada, I feel the stars of the northern sky calling me back, where I can once again gaze at you. My childhood dreams resurface—dreams of whales and orcas, guardians of the ocean. I recall writing letters as a child, hoping to work as an oceanographer and spending my pocket money to support their preservation. I don’t know what my life will be like in Canada, but that dream now feels like it was never far from me—just waiting for its time.

Recently, as I delved into fixed stars in astrology, my curiosity for Alkaid—rising in the horizon at my birth—led me to an insightful article by astrologer Héloïse (www.heloastro.com). In it, she described a vision of orcas while channeling the star’s energy. The synchronicities grew stronger: Vézelay—the "eternal hill," a sacred pilgrimage site in Burgundy, France—where I lived for the past three years. Vézelay enchanted my soul and became the sanctuary where I wrote my book. As I immersed myself in deep silence, I knew I was channeling something greater.

I discovered that the basilica at Vézelay is part of a series of religious sites aligned with the stars of the Great Bear, much like the pyramids align with Orion’s Belt. To my surprise, Vézelay is linked to Alkaid. I can’t help but wonder: Has this star, whose Arabic name means “Leader of the Mourners,” been my unseen guide through three years of profound upheaval—marked by the tragic loss of loved ones?

Could Alkaid—tied to the myths of Callisto and Artemis, the huntress and protector of the untamed—have shaped the writing of my book? A book that speaks of our ancestral ties to the land, laments our lost connection to the living world, and calls us to re-member it. Perhaps Alkaid’s light has been a silent companion, guiding me toward healing, offering insights as I stood on wild edges, where Ursa Major illuminated the night sky and wild geese called me to look upward by day. Only now do I realize the magnitude of what Vézelay offered me. That place aligns with you, Alkaid, part of Ursa Major.

A Spiritual Ally

The Great Bear has been more than a constellation to me; it has been a spiritual ally, a guide through the unseen for many years. The synchronicity is haunting.

The She-Bear herself is my fierce protector on every journey—both in this world and otherworldly realms. When I feel unsafe, she walks by my side and rises within me, a guardian spirit brought to life. The bear has always been my spirit guide, a symbol of the untamed, protective force I carry within. In moments of anger, I feel like a shapeshifter; when rage ignites, her strength courses through me like an ancient memory. I feel her raw, maternal power—the kind that would destroy to protect those she loves.

In her article, Héloïse (www.heloastro.com) highlights that First Nations attribute 'Alkaidian qualities' to orcas—community, protectors, symbols of strength, family, wildness, harmony, and sometimes travel. These qualities, often associated with bears as well, beautifully mirror Alkaid’s magical properties. Héloïse also reminds us of Renaissance occultist Cornelius Agrippa’s description of Alkaid as a star that ensures safety in journeys, guiding travelers back home.

As for me, I'm no longer sure where home is, as I carry my roots within me. Home feels everywhere the wild is, everywhere the stars shine. But before passing, my mother reminded me that Canada was the first place I pointed to on a map at age four and declared I wanted to live there—among people who also speak to the river.

Since 2009, I’ve carried an orca pendant purchased on Vancouver Island. It hangs alongside a moon pendant, forming a talisman of protection and guidance. Like Alkaid, these symbols tether me to something greater than myself—a cosmic and oceanic reminder of where I come from and where I must go. Am I going home?

A Cry for the Wild

My love for orcas is tinged with grief. The orcas of the Salish Sea are dying, starving as salmon they depend on vanish. Salmon—the lifeblood of the Pacific Coast ecosystem—nourishes all: orcas, seals, bears, eagles, wolves, and the forests themselves. But industrial greed has infected these waters. Fish farms spread disease to wild salmon; pipelines threaten catastrophic spills; underwater noise disrupts the delicate songs of the ocean. Not to mention dams preventing salmon born in the river from reaching the sea.

The orca mother who carried her dead cub on her nose for 17 days, back in 2018, was not just mourning, but crying out—to us, to the world—to pay attention. Her grief was a mirror of our collective failure to honor the interconnection of all lives.

First Nations, whether in Canada, Australia, or elsewhere, continue to remind us of what our distant European ancestors also knew. The land and its creatures are kin, not commodities. Yet their wisdom is sidelined, treaties ignored, voices silenced, and ecosystems exploited. The interconnectedness they cherish is precisely what what Alkaid calls us to remember: we belong to something vast, wild, and sacred. To destroy it is to destroy ourselves.

Toward Sacred Activism

This move to Canada feels like a pilgrimage, with Alkaid shining again above me—a steadfast guide. The orcas call from the cold waters, echoing my own yearning for sanctuary, for a return to the untamed. Protection, harmony, community, and interconnection—these are the gifts of Alkaid, the bear, the orca, and, hopefully, Canada for me.

I am ready to listen, to act, to find my place, and to be of service. To honor what is wild within me and in the world. To protect it fiercely. The stars are aligning; a new journey begins.

I have already walked the path of choosing roles aligned with my values, and that path continues to call me forward. My time photographing wildlife in France or in the Australian desert, working alongside Indigenous people, taught me what it means to celebrate and defend sacred places—to use voices that speak for the land, for culture, and for creatures without words. It deepened my commitment to fight against the exploitation of land and to stand in solidarity for land rights. Preserving wildlife and amplifying the cries of those whose languages are dismissed by humans has always been, and will always be, the sacred duty that drives me.

This is the work I have always felt called to do, but now, as I reach forty, I feel no need to hide any part of myself. I will let my spiritual connection to the land, my love for the wild, and my grief for its losses guide my actions. Until ecocide is recognized as an international crime, I will not waver in speaking out for justice and the sanctity of life, surrounding myself with other souls on the same path. My devotion is unyielding—to protect the untamed, to restore balance, and to honor the interconnected web of life that ties us all—to care for our great mother, the Earth.

Canada feels like a return—a return to childhood dreams, to the wildlife I long to know better, and to a way of being that aligns heart, soul, and purpose. It is a place where I hope to weave together my skills, my animistic values, and my fierce love for the living world into something meaningful. Like Alkaid, whose light reminds us of our duty to guard the sacred, I feel ready to protect fiercely and to be of service to the wild—until justice reaches every corner of the land, water, and sky.

Interspecies Activism

Interspecies activism begins with a recognition of kinship—that we humans are not above the natural world, but within it, part of it, and utterly dependent on its balance. It means seeing the orcas, the bears, the salmon, the forests, the rivers, and the stars as allies in the fight for a better world. They are not merely victims of our actions; they are teachers, guides, and partners we must listen to.

The orca mother who carried her dead baby speaks to this kinship. Her act was a call to listen urgently. Alkaid, too, carries this message. Her light stretches across the vastness of space to remind us of our place in the cosmos and the sacred duty we have to protect the wild—our natural habitat, our home—the Earth. Together—with the stars above and the earth below, with the orcas, the bears, the eagles, the salmon, and the rivers—we can find our way back to balance.