The wild in you

is awake though

its quiet existence

may escape perception.

It matters not if it is felt,

or if it was forgotten long ago.

The wild in you is awake.


It calls to the

hawk soaring overhead,

gliding with unbridled fluidity.

It is elated predawn,

stretching into profoundly silent stillness,

untethering the heart

into a state of unfurling.

It expands into the vastness

of the nighttime heavens,

delighted by the dizzying astralscape.


At the sight of the full moon

it cries from every particle of being,

“Yes! Yes!”

and ceases not to be the

very sense of wonder itself.

It is awake while you drive your car,

leaping out of your chest

at lightning piercing the dark sky,

and becoming the exalted expression

of tree branches rooted into Source.


It looks into my eyes and

draws the wild out of me.

It is all that ever was or will be.

The wild in you is

all that is here, and now.

It never stopped

dancing to the beat

of a tribal drum.

It moves and merges

with all that was ever infinitely wild.


The wild was born before

words and thoughts turned into

concepts  and beliefs 

and crystallized into our reality.

It brings us closer to waves crashing,

rivers rushing,

 rain falling steadily on

earth pregnant with life.


The wild in us whispers

not to fear ourselves,

or the death we cannot die,

for what is wild will always be,

the wild in you, 

the wild in me.