Now open your eyes. It is time to begin again Wild this time.

Wild This Time {begin again}

{listen to this post as you read}

“Being tame is what we’re taught: … put the crayons back, stay in line, don’t talk too loud, keep your knees together, nice girls don’t…As you might know, nice girls DO, and they like to feel wild and alive. Being tame feels safe, being wild, unsafe. Yet safety is an illusion anyway. We are not in control. No matter how dry and tame and nice we live, we will die. And we will suffer along the way. Living wild is its own reward.” SARK.
We start out on this earth wild. Unfettered. Free.

You did. I did. We all do.

We speak our needs. Cry our hurt. Kick and scream our anger. Sing our joy.

Do you remember it?

Do you feel that tingle way down low when i remind you – does that rooted memory of your innate wild spirit whisper back – yes – i am still here?  

Do you feel the stirrings of spaces inside you that have been shoved down, made quiet, pushed back?

Do you remember a time when you were free? When your heart beat steady with pulse of sun and moon wildthistime1and tide and you could dive under the waves and fly higher than the trees and always come back home. When you were one with dark rich earth and the green of all that is alive and the creatures that move unseen in the dark.

When you knew the truth. In your bones.

And you knew when it came down to it you were just like those wild things, you were kin to the storm and you rose with the sun and spun circles around the earth.

That when it came right down to it, you had no owner.  No captor.  

In all the ways that really mattered, no matter what they said, you belonged only to yourself.

Somewhere deep inside of us, we are always that.

Somewhere, deep inside of you, i know that you know this is true. No matter how distant or how separate or how impossible it feels right now.

Because somehow, somewhere – you forgot.  Or you were tricked, convinced otherwise by a culture that benefits from your compliance. Or you lost that wild heart of yours accidentally, without even noticing she was gone.  

And so your wild heart, she went into hiding. Tucked away behind books, or in shoeboxes crammed with old memories and older pain. Hidden inside messages of too much and not enough. Painted behind layers of shame and doubt and loathing.

Your wild heart may be hidden inside the fractured shells of past lives.

Or deep within the echoed expectations of others.

Underneath that pile of unmet dreams.

In the silenced loud and in the stifled, not permitted and yet righteous anger.

In the child trauma, where so much was taken from you.

In the silence of all the words you have been unable speak.

Within the covers of that tattered journal, where truth was finally spilled.

In the song that finds you, again and again and haunts you sweet and true.

Tucked between the ribs of old lovers and that ragged sigh of a space where teeth met bone.

Closed in boxes shoved to the back of closets or grown dusty in attics.

Between the lines of that letter, the one you read until the page was tattered. The one that will always be your undoing.

Hot and tender and raw in the unmet need for skin against skin and the want of your holy body.

At the junction between this life and that one, where past and present and future meet and the road forks and you made an impossible choice.

Slipped inside the line that lives between goodness and wholeness and the sliver where they become one.

And she is right here. Today. As close as your breath. 

Yes, wherever your wild heart is hiding – she is still there.  And she wants to be found.

I promise you, she wants to be found

Because you see, your wild heart is the truth of you. And you are the truth of your wild heart.

your wild heart is the truth of you. And you are the truth of your wild heart.


And if you don’t yet know it, let me remind you:

Forget what they told you. You are love child of a passionate affair between goddess and universe. You were born of a steamy forbidden heat and you were made for the cyclone of unadulterated wholeness. You are a daughter of delight. You are the unconstrained mother of all. A fierce warrior. A wicked priestess. Your roots twist into this earth. Your spirit rises in glorious asana.  You let loose with the howl of the wilderness you’ve held tight all these years.

You are wild.

Do you hear me?

You are wild.

Your heart is wild. Your soul is wild. Your spirit is as wild as the howl that has been building in your chest, ready to open the locked door of your rib cage. wildthistime2

Your urge to run – fast and hard and long – to places where you are unknown and unseen – so that you can finally take up all the space you need.  

That is your wild.

Your craving for quiet. For candles and darkness and the presence of what is most holy to you.

That is your wild.

The voice that tells you to leave, that your highest good can not be served here. The knowing that tells you to run to her – because her arms are the only home you’ve ever needed. The sound of the waves and the wind you feel tangling your hair when you are nowhere near the ocean and the air is entirely still. The sound of your laughter, pure unadulterated joy. The heat and longing and need of your skin and bones and center. The spiral and spark, deep in your belly that reminds you there is more. The way your knees hit the ground and your shoulders quake and you feel the loss of everything that has gone away. Your refusal to compromise what you know to be true.

Your resonant yes.

Your holy no.

Your sweet seduction

Your siren song.

Your agency. Your autonomy. Your surety of self.

Your movement through doubt and ache and fear.

This is your wild.   

This is your home.

And no matter how many times you lose your way, your wild heart remains. Waiting, always, for you to return.

When you hear her whisper, that small rise within – she is calling to you. And if you listen, and answer her call, she will help you create a map to trace the path back.

You can dance your way or paint your way or fuck your way or yell or scream or sing or pray or run or dive or write.

There are a million true paths. All of them within your reach.

Take a deep breath now. Close your eyes. Get steady. Get real steady. Feel yourself rooted to the earth and rising to the heavens. Now go in and go out all at once. Become and disappear. Stretch out your hands, palms up and ready to receive.  

Do you feel it? Right beneath your ribs? Do you feel it pulsing, red and ready?

Call it to you now, all the way home.  Feel the heat and solidity. Feel the want and divinity. Feel the pull of the tides and the wild, wild moon. Hear your howl.

Now open your eyes.

It is time to begin again

Wild this time.




Do you, like me, know you have a wild heart? And do you, like me, lose connection with it through the whirl and swirl of life?

If your answer is yes, please consider joining me on a journey back home as we step into sacred space together for 30 days of questions and prompts aimed at taking us back to that wild heart of us – which is our one true home.

The space is already filling with open minds and pounding hearts and sacred mystery.

And having you there, wild heart open and ready to write, would make it even more holy.

Please join us.

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I swear like a sailor, I've been called a word-witch (more than once), I believe whole-heartedly in the power of your voice,  and think words are as necessary as air. I work with humans who are seeking permission to stop seeking permission and offer programs that will get living and writing on your own terms (for reals). 

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