The Wild Lives

The Wild lives within.

She is not dead.
She is not sleeping.
She is waiting.

The Wild is waiting for us to wake. Waiting for us to love, to reach out, to touch the stranger's heart, to listen to those on the bus, to smile at tailgaters, to hold a hand out to the person yelling on the corner, to give, to receive, to share what is inside. 

The Wild waits.

She knows how to wait.
She waits in the stillness of stone and tree, earth and sky.
She understands time. She understands you. She waits for you.

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Where Does the Wild Live?

Where does the Wild live, I asked

the concrete: a visage of grief,

broken and scarred.

In my heart, she said,

in the rock and limestone,

crushed and emptied

beneath your feet. Listen deep

to your footsteps; the rhythm

of loss.

I asked the glass, so naked,

so transparent, I looked away

for what I saw. In my bones, she murmured, 

my bones of sand. I remember 

the sea, the salt and how the westerlies blew.

I saw the world

in who I was.

I asked the plywood, the cross

and the table where food is served

and nails are driven. In my veins,

she said, where blood ran free, now

imprisoned in a pattern:

the sacred 
denied.

I asked the electricity that runs

through my life from laptops to videos,

microwaves to fans. Look 

to the rivers, she said, where music is born,

then listen to my hum:

the detritus of song.

And plastic, I asked,

where does the Wild live? 
In the deepest of genes, said a voice

like my own, remains of the ancestors

deposits of folly. I am

the shadow, the darkness 
that lies in your heart.
Do not try to control me—
you cannot.

Where does the Wild live, I asked the stars,

so far away, untouched

by me. In your soul, they said, 
go to your soul. But I knew

my soul

was nowhere

to be found.

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Hearing with My Heart

to survive deep water

exhale slowly

when there is no air left

in which to drown

breathe

I concluded my last post in March with the following question: will I still hear the fullness of silence when I become attuned to the hearing aid? Will I still hear with my heart?

I don’t know the answer to that question. Not long after that post I returned the aid, packed up my belongings and moved to Vancouver Island to begin a whole new journey. 

Most mornings I start my day with a hike up the local hill. It’s a long drawn out flat path before pulling up to a small hidden plateau in a series of short, steep slopes. Nothing arduous, to be sure, but it brings me to a lovely meditation spot of moss, aged Arbutus, Manzanita, and gnarled Fir. It’s a magical place, filled with other worldly beings that dance and play just out of vision. I catch them in the corner of my eye or when I just allow my sight to accept what is. I make a mandala of found leaves and twigs, petals and seeds and offer some ground corn for the hungry spirits. A Raven calls; she sings to my heart. Her voice is the rich, deep tones of aged cedars and ancient stone, of hidden canyons filled with raging rivers and walls dripping with moss and fern.  I open up to the call and soar with her on the thermals that tower above. I take off my shoes and feel the cool rough rock ignite long lost sensations. My soul erupts with joy and I dance myself alive to her rhythm. 

* * *

I have not yet set down permanent roots but the land here is opening her arms to me and I feel myself responding. Meanwhile, as I look for a place to call home I will continue my lifelong learning in how to hear with my heart.

I am currently in Saanich where I offer mobile BodyMind therapy sessions and pet/housesitting services. I am also in Vancouver every two months to offer BodyMind sessions. Check out my contact page at www.jo-annsvensson.com

If you like this blog, please "like" my FaceBook page and get notices on your timeline when a new article or poem is posted. You can also "follow me" by signing up on the right side of this page.