To be truly, deeply wild, we know our place in a rich world teeming with life - know that we are part of something greater than ourselves, where no action is without consequence. We dance at the delicate skin where our internal landscape meets the external one, and realise that there is no boundary. To see the world as it truly is we have to journey inward, not outward, and mine the dark caverns of our psyche, heal the old hurts, release our stories and truly know ourselves. It is only then that we can be open to the opportunities and gifts that are strewn in our paths like jewels in sunlight.
The only true authority here is an internal one. There is no teacher who can tell us the way the world is. All we can know is the way our own world is. A teacher can guide and reflect, but the only true wisdom comes from the journey of our own awakening heart.
That is what we are interested in - the profound and beautiful dance that comes on a path of questing, of sifting and sorting, of asking not ‘Is this true?’ but ‘Is this true for me?’
Wild is not what we do, it is who we are. Wild is the song of the earth in our bones and bellies. Wild is the kiss of light on a bird’s high wing, the thunder of rage in a stamping foot, the earthquake of birth, the relentless entropy of time. Wild is reflected in a single drop of rain, hanging from a leaf, bending the world into a tiny eye. Wild is the moment when we realise that we do not need to be obedient to a parent or culture, that we have ultimate freedom to step away from the shackles of ‘should’, to spot that subtle parting of branches that reveals a faint path that is ours, and ours alone. When we dare to take those steps, away from everything we think is safe, there is a freedom so profound that the universe hushes to hear it. Then we hear a deep sound, ba-boom, ba-boom, and we realise that it is the beating of our own wisening heart, the only rhythm that is truly our own, and it is calling, please dance, please dance.
Wild is knowing ourselves so well that we cannot be buffeted by storms of projection and fantasy, and choices now come from a place of silence, a natural arising of ‘what is right, right now’. Wild knows that once we clear our darkness there comes a peace and clarity that guides us ever deeper and further. Wild is not taking things too seriously. It is inappropriate and profane, because it knows that stories are meaningless and the universe has a sense of humour. Wild laughs at the top of its lungs, spraying crumbs all over the table. Wild is the quiet of a forest pool, skittering with tiny ripples as the breeze kisses its gelid skin. Wild is a playground, a festival, a battlefield, a sigh. It is the most ordinary miracle. It passes the butter and kisses the kids goodbye. It sews and digs and cuts itself shaving. It draws on the walls and gets grumpy at the mess. It does the shopping and brings home the bacon. But it does all these things from a sense of truth, of rightness, rather than duty.
This is what wild is to us, this glorious unfurling of a heart’s journey into rightness. Once our feet are on this path, the road takes us into wisdom, along often painful routes. It is an uncomfortable journey. There are no shortcuts. Being human is a lifelong task. We can careen along blindly, at the whim of every stone in the road, every tug of wind threatening to bowl us over, or we can take responsibility, dance with awareness, constantly ask ourselves of every situation, every thought, every feeling… ‘What is this teaching me?’ We can choose and choose and choose.
Wild is an adventure. We journey here because we love it, because we have been scratched by its long claw, we have salt in our hair and mountain water in our eyes. We dive deeper into its embrace, to be scoured of all that is familiar and discover a new familiarity with the scariest creature of all, ourselves. We run toward our own wild natures, instead of sedating them with the myriad ways humans choose to fall asleep. We realise what it is to be truly alive.
Can you hear it? Can you hear it calling in the last moments before you fall asleep and the first moment before your consciousness floods in with what what you need to do today? Can you hear the whisper of wild, feel that yearning to come home? Is there a part of you that knows that there simply must be more, that you have in your grasp some fragment of a dream, a promise of oneness, of being whole, being held in the fullness of your being?
This is why we talk about deep rewilding. We’re not just exploring the physical skills it takes to be at home in the wild places; we’re rewilding our minds, our hearts, our bones. We’re awakening old songs, we’re pressing ourselves into the flesh of our stories so that we can let them fall away like shed skins, outgrown now, our new pelts gleaming with life, our bodies fit and strong.
Whether you are taking your first step or your thousandth, if you hear the song of your own wild heart, we urge you to follow it, knowing it will lead you where you need to be. We can’t tell you where that is. We can just tell you that we are singing alongside you.
The only true authority here is an internal one. There is no teacher who can tell us the way the world is. All we can know is the way our own world is. A teacher can guide and reflect, but the only true wisdom comes from the journey of our own awakening heart.
That is what we are interested in - the profound and beautiful dance that comes on a path of questing, of sifting and sorting, of asking not ‘Is this true?’ but ‘Is this true for me?’
Wild is not what we do, it is who we are. Wild is the song of the earth in our bones and bellies. Wild is the kiss of light on a bird’s high wing, the thunder of rage in a stamping foot, the earthquake of birth, the relentless entropy of time. Wild is reflected in a single drop of rain, hanging from a leaf, bending the world into a tiny eye. Wild is the moment when we realise that we do not need to be obedient to a parent or culture, that we have ultimate freedom to step away from the shackles of ‘should’, to spot that subtle parting of branches that reveals a faint path that is ours, and ours alone. When we dare to take those steps, away from everything we think is safe, there is a freedom so profound that the universe hushes to hear it. Then we hear a deep sound, ba-boom, ba-boom, and we realise that it is the beating of our own wisening heart, the only rhythm that is truly our own, and it is calling, please dance, please dance.
Wild is knowing ourselves so well that we cannot be buffeted by storms of projection and fantasy, and choices now come from a place of silence, a natural arising of ‘what is right, right now’. Wild knows that once we clear our darkness there comes a peace and clarity that guides us ever deeper and further. Wild is not taking things too seriously. It is inappropriate and profane, because it knows that stories are meaningless and the universe has a sense of humour. Wild laughs at the top of its lungs, spraying crumbs all over the table. Wild is the quiet of a forest pool, skittering with tiny ripples as the breeze kisses its gelid skin. Wild is a playground, a festival, a battlefield, a sigh. It is the most ordinary miracle. It passes the butter and kisses the kids goodbye. It sews and digs and cuts itself shaving. It draws on the walls and gets grumpy at the mess. It does the shopping and brings home the bacon. But it does all these things from a sense of truth, of rightness, rather than duty.
This is what wild is to us, this glorious unfurling of a heart’s journey into rightness. Once our feet are on this path, the road takes us into wisdom, along often painful routes. It is an uncomfortable journey. There are no shortcuts. Being human is a lifelong task. We can careen along blindly, at the whim of every stone in the road, every tug of wind threatening to bowl us over, or we can take responsibility, dance with awareness, constantly ask ourselves of every situation, every thought, every feeling… ‘What is this teaching me?’ We can choose and choose and choose.
Wild is an adventure. We journey here because we love it, because we have been scratched by its long claw, we have salt in our hair and mountain water in our eyes. We dive deeper into its embrace, to be scoured of all that is familiar and discover a new familiarity with the scariest creature of all, ourselves. We run toward our own wild natures, instead of sedating them with the myriad ways humans choose to fall asleep. We realise what it is to be truly alive.
Can you hear it? Can you hear it calling in the last moments before you fall asleep and the first moment before your consciousness floods in with what what you need to do today? Can you hear the whisper of wild, feel that yearning to come home? Is there a part of you that knows that there simply must be more, that you have in your grasp some fragment of a dream, a promise of oneness, of being whole, being held in the fullness of your being?
This is why we talk about deep rewilding. We’re not just exploring the physical skills it takes to be at home in the wild places; we’re rewilding our minds, our hearts, our bones. We’re awakening old songs, we’re pressing ourselves into the flesh of our stories so that we can let them fall away like shed skins, outgrown now, our new pelts gleaming with life, our bodies fit and strong.
Whether you are taking your first step or your thousandth, if you hear the song of your own wild heart, we urge you to follow it, knowing it will lead you where you need to be. We can’t tell you where that is. We can just tell you that we are singing alongside you.