Passionfruitcowgirl

On entering wild places.

 

 

You learn, once you finally realise
how precious it is, to tread upon this ancient altar,
to step a little more gently,
a little more naked,
into the wild.

You strip down to tender,
not to show yourself off,
or parade your furless body,
but in order do less harm
to every wonderful thing
receiving you
as you tread deeper,
the living tissues of the woods.

You learn to ask permission
at each threshold
before you push on,
realising, at last,
that every little bird,
each lizard, ant and all the dreamy moss
knows already
that you are coming.

Knows
what creatures like you
can bring in your pockets
and leave in your wake.

Every beetle, each raindrop,
yes, even the breeze,
knows the wild corners here
not as untamed emptiness
but as body, church and fragrant home.

Each little being,
and every surviving tree and burrow,
knows that you are coming,
And is wise to fear you.

To truly enter the hallowed woods remaining,
to be so blessed
as to receive there a glimmer
of what wonders once
abounded wild across this earth,
you will need to change your skin,
drop your usual defences,
surrender your stick and tilt of chin.
You
will need to learn
to step more gently,
to slower your pace…

To come as if you were entering a place,
known and sacred,
to hosts of living beings,
More wise and elegant than you.

To know that you are on the lowest rung
of orders of gorgeous elements,
lovers, lost to us, and siblings,
which have played upon the strange old rocks,
birthed upon the paperbarks,
died among the fallen leaves,
For eternity of generations

And whose hallowed groves
You, at last, have one day
Asked humbly asked to enter

One day, you understood it.

You stopped and asked for welcome,
waited for permission
Let it be known
That you come, gently seeking
To remember something
Of the wonder
Of what it is
to be at home
Among the gentle woodlings
Of the wild

First: you ask to enter.

~ * ~