Echoes of the wilds

I dreamt of being wild, utterly in kinship.

Photo by Nathan Anderson on Unsplash

A few years ago, I woke up feeling lost and grieving. I dreamt of being wild, utterly in kinship. When awake, I mourned the ancient and profound loss of keen senses and radical awareness, of living ritually as an integral part of the cosmos.

Before humans learned to fear ourselves, we lived in deep-rooted connection with everything else — embraced in the essential kiss of the black earth beneath our feet and the potent caress of the skies above, swaddled in the bones of the ancestors.

To connect to the ancient wild being we carry within since the dawn of times, we need the deep silence of infinite radical presence. But we are immersed in pervasive modernity noises. White background static distracts us from what’s in front of us. Around us. All the time. At this instant, let your instincts feel beyond modernity turbulence. Human skin-deep sensing of what we cannot see or quantify. Feel life all around.

The long process of our domestication has been our demise. We forgot. Amnesia of interbeing ever co-creating entangled life—lost memories of our real strength in a harsh and abundant world.

Forgotten languages, soundscapes, textures, and bridges of connection to other beings, different telluric and cosmic knowings.

We forgot the real value of sacred life itself. We became narrower. Alone and afraid. Islands of forgetfulness and isolation, believing fear to be the only lens. And to conquer it is the only solution. 
Yes, nature is wild and violent. And so are we. Yes, nature is spontaneous and harsh. So are we. But it is also creative, inventive, magical, mysterious, ever-changing, and evolving. If we could listen to its stories and old wisdom again, we would cherish it.

The wilds are complex multi-dimensional landscapes — no linear maps to cross it, no point A to point B. To cross the wilds, we need feet rooted on the ground, humming, for we are the wild place. We are embedded in it. We are the rocks and the mountains, the wind and the waters — sacred flesh in sacred ground.

I yearn to be wild, and it whispers me back, calling me — echoing the deep past. I sense the hairs on the back of my neck lifting—shivers down my spine. Furthermore, I remember watching and being watched in long silent conversations with other beings. Living the land as a co-created home, not a stranger to be possessed, used, or conquered. Nurturing and caring back for all creation. Playfully and empathically present. Remembering old stories of care and not only destruction. Walking potent and free, keen on what is, in profound and mysterious relation to the land and tending all its inhabitants — living sacredly, intently, actively engaging, and participating in the ever-unfolding creation.
Simply remember.

Ancient Tales for Modern Times