Daughter of Gaia

The wilderness calls to the wild in me.

I long for rain that falls, not on windowpanes, but on my skin as a blessing of renewal. I long to hear the wind, not for an hour while I take a walk, but all night long as it whistles through the trees and serenades my dreams. I long to build a fire and to feel the primal sanity in that, to huddle around its crackling warmth instead of around a computer screen, and to let that fire be the heart of the night. I long to gaze up at the stars when I feel lost and to take comfort in the bright expanse of the universe—one can’t help but feel the presence of cosmic intelligence looking up at a sky like that.

The wilderness calls to the wild in me.

I want feel my feet on the ground, not on carpet or floor, but on the holy ground of Gaia herself and to walk one-precious-step-at-a-time like the prayer walking was meant to be. I want to take my place in the grand scheme of things without self-consciousness or question. I long to have faith again in the great rhythm of life, her seasons and cycles and to give myself over to that with the humility of one who is part of a sacred circle.

The wilderness calls to the wild in me.

I long to feel the sun and to let all obstruction dissolve in that heat, to be transformed and transmuted through alchemy—make me gold, make me the one I was meant to be, the one I am. I want the glow of the moon to illuminate my face and spirit, for my womb to synchronize with her wisdom and to create new life in rhythm with the movement of the cosmos. I want to dance for rain and smell the electricity in the air and feel my skin tingle when lightning comes and thunder shakes the ground.

The wilderness calls to the wild in me.

I long to create with Gaia, to eat her food that I have devotedly tended to with faith and fingers in the dirt. I long to return to the soundness of simple ways, earth, air, water, fire, and spirit. I long to stop driving in circles on paved roads and instead to reclaim my place in the holy wheel of life. It is time. It is well-past time. Any other definition of sanity is insane. Any other attempts at wellness are simply fragments of what true wellness could be.

The wilderness calls to the wild in me. Her call is becoming a deafening roar.

She will not stop calling until her call is answered.

 

Copyright © 2015 Marie-Ève Bonneau

PHOTO CREDIT: M. BONNEAU

PHOTO CREDIT: M. BONNEAU