There is a rhythm to the routine, a calm to be found in the motions of familiarity. Alarm clocks and afternoon lethargy, a pattern of conventionality, of soothing stability and yet,
I hunger for the wild.
When the maze of concrete weighs heavy on my bones, I ache for the primal heat of the jungle, the salt of the ocean, the mist of the mountains, I ache for the harmonic chaos of the natural world, the spontaneity of adventure, the calm of the open spaces,
but, there is a wildness within me that cannot be tamed.
A fever that undulates through my blood and reassures me, while roaming through the urban sprawl, in a land far from home, that this roaring inside of me, this need to feel, to plunge into a body of water and let the hands of mother earth swallow me in ecstasy, this is who I am.
I rise and fall, again and again.
I explode in awe at the isness of everything.
There is a power in pain, the way it that courses through blue veins, gently cracking open tired bones and spilling all the heartbreak of the past, all the weight of my ancestor’s struggles.
Milk and blood. Tears and wine. Salt and sorrow.
Pain comes to heal us.
I embrace the wild things inside of me that need to feel everything.
The loss. The love. The missing. The unfolding.
To sob at the news and smile at little children, at old ladies and kind strangers and ragged street dogs.
I go to work and dress in clothes and drink coffee and follow the rules.
But hunger fuels my soul, a hunger to express my truth.
To scream in torrential rainstorms and swim through crashing waves.
To navigate along unmarked roads,
To wander into unknown territory.
To get lost.
I must let myself flow between the rigidity and the softness.
Let myself dance in the dust, in the blue nights and the tears.
Suck the sweet juice from fresh coconuts and sweat.
Walk home with the cold wind whipping at my skin.
I must let myself feel it all.
Revel in the isness of what is.
Embrace the motions of the every day and never let the mundane dull my light. There is colour in the ordinary. The world is made of miracles.
The light on the mountains. The dew on the grass. Foggy windows. City lights. Milky ways.
And understand that sometimes the need to escape to the jungle is inevitable.
When the wild calls I must go. I must feed my hunger.
I am the lioness,
I have to roar.