When I first read the Jivamukti’s focus of the month on wildness I got excited. My own personal search to regain my inner wild began back a little over a year ago and has slowly but surely began to creep into my every day existence.
I first recognized my desire to reclaim my inner wildness when I became aware that what I was spending my evenings searching on the internet and following these yoga women who seemed to live these free and wild lives. They had that untamed hair and fire in their eyes. Passion seemed to vibrate from them right off the screen. I felt a stirring inside, a yearning to rekindle that same sense of freedom inside of myself.
When did I even lose it?
I started reminiscing to the days when as a child I would wander through the woods and fall asleep on top of fallen trees. Safe, held and free all in mother natures arms. The wind singing over my bones and the leaves rustling their stories to me. I wanted back to that time, that place inside where wild and free meant one with nature. It is not be accident that the pristine wildness of our own planet disappears as the understanding of our own inner wild nature fades.
Mine didn’t leave in a dismissive argument but rather slipped out the back door without a fuss, returning to it’s origin waiting for me to reclaim it at the point when my own awareness would heighten and notice it’s absence. My journey led me to blindfolded lessons in the dojo – a reclaiming of my inner senses, to books I loved as a child.
It was in the fairytales, myths and stories that provided an understanding which sharpened my sight so that I could pick up and pick out the path left by my wildish nature. The instruction found in the stories reassured me that the path had not run out but still leads deep and deeper still into my own knowing. The tracks I was following were those of the wild and innate instinctual self. It was in the old words that old memory stirred and began to bring my wildness back to life. The memory of my undeniable and irrevocable kinship with the wild, a relationship that had become ghostly from neglect, buried by our over domestication outlawed by the surrounding culture or no longer understood anymore.
We may have forgotten it’s name, we may not answer when it calls, but in our bones we know it, we yearn toward it, we know we belong to it and it to us. From nights in India just letting my hair blow wildly on the back of a motorcycle, to hiking the mountains of Vancouver, from Safaris in Africa to sitting and staring into the soulful eyes of my beloved pets – it’s in there, my wild nature. I but have the courage to call and coax it back out.
I know one thing to be true. I will not stop reclaiming that deep song of my starved soul until I am once again in council and reconciliation with my inner wild.