We are wild. As all things are. As the light shimmering through the trees, the wind rustling through the leaves, the first flowers blooming in the Springtime, and the water trickling down the stream. The stream flows over shallow rocks and bends and breaks through brush and bracken fore it reaches our hands cupped softly. And so we drink that gentle brook that brings us life and living. And it is only there, in the home of our ancestors, that spiritual solitude, that I find myself wondering: what lies beyond the wode?
For many years I pondered, my thoughts unanswered. Yet I saw in dreams the answers which I sought: short men entering our wode, with darker skin than bark yet softer eyes and smiles. They did not know the names of the trees nor the paths we followed; nor did they hear the words the wind would whisper as we walked; nor did they stop to sprinkle petals over the waterfalls; yet all the same I could plainly see they felt it in the air: the deeper things that dwelled in all, the wildness we all shared.
And as my dreams slowly unfurled, born of true disposition, those short men did come to me, their smiles and eyes unlearned. I shewed them to our trees and paths and told them of their names; and I held their ears to the wind, and we listened together for days; and when we reached the waterfalls, they delighted in our ritual; and their spirits were laid bare before us. We, the true children of the wilderness.
The first of the children raised their hand, and spoke unto the men as follows: “I see that you are weary, your hands well worn and bruised. I give you the gift of slumber, so that you may rest and heal your wounds.”
The second stood and faced the men, unshakeably proud and sure: “Whatever worries may still plague you, whatever doubt that you endure - leave it here with us, and know we hear your woe.”
The third hobbled near and close, so close the men could smell their sweetness, with a lilting voice both fair and fine, a charming imposition: “Your kindness is a gift to all, one that we cannot repay, but I shall sing to you a song that will make bright your darkest day.” They raised their head and began their melody, soft and precious like the pleasant stream, the lapping waters against bare hands, a tender touch of gods on land. As light warms the morning frost, as dew drops fall, as touching moss. As the moonlight dies and the sunrise starts, as the golden hour makes love laugh.
And so it was my turn, the fourth child of the untamed wode, and I stared at the short men I’d first seen in wildest dreams, tears streaming from my eyes - for I knew they were not long for this world: “The wode offers you one last gift, dear short men, should you wish, and all of you have surely earned it. This place is green and young like us, but somewhere else is old, so old; not wild and free like it is here, but tamed with sense and holiness. It is there we one day all shall fare, when we have earned true peace within ourselves. It beckons you, it calls you; a place of rest and calm, where the moon is bright as the sun and the night is warm and safe as day. There you will be unburdened by the many deep questions of the world, and you will find all answers in the holy song and dance of all who have dissolved their fate. Reach out to me, hold my hand, and I shall take you there.”
One by one the short men rose, and I held them tight as they moved on; laughing, weeping, so they went, save one, just one, who would not take. I turned towards the last short man and called in great confusion: “This I do not understand, why won’t you leave this land?”
The short man, old and weak, looked into my eyes before they spoke: “I am wild. As all things are. I do not want my questions answered; I like the strangeness of this world. I like it here, this untamed place, this spiritual home, unmade and free. I like to wander and to frolick, I like to lie down in the fields; and when the bees buzz above me, I feel like I am free. I always stop to smell the flowers; and I like to see the brackens billow in the breeze. What is the world without its deepness that I cannot quite perceive? No, I would not trade my freedom, no matter what you offer me. For I am wild. As all things are. And I am free.”
The short man sat down in the grass, and I joined them there for a fleeting while; but it was not long fore their breathing stopped, so quietly. That night I dreamed a dream so vivid and powerful it moved me. I dreamed of escaping from the wode, of leaving my wonderful home. Surely, there must be a world out there, from where the short men had come to see me?
All next day I walked and walked alone, past streams and trees and all things known, I walked until I could no more, and by night I reached what I had sought. I leaned against the last lonely tree of my forest home, and looked out into the wild, free world, where plains stretched out for leagues and leagues, to where mountains in the distance plead: “Explore me! Explore me!” What world is this? I needed more! I walked, I ran, I jumped, I crawled. In every corner something new; new trees, strange rocks, and foreign animals. Some brought joy and others pain, but I enjoyed them all the same. I could not stop; I would not stop. What foolish force had bound me for so long that I would not care for this? For now I truly knew my home: nowhere and everywhere at all. I wished to see all there is to see, its ugliness and its beauty.
For I am wild. As all things are. And I have the greatest gift of all: curiosity.