I dream about this place when I’m not here.
When the rush of daily life is weighing on me and I start to feel trapped, over-domesticated.
I start to feel soul-hungry.
Parched. Like I might wither away.
Maybe it’s the sun’s first light on these ancient cliffs
Or the heavy current of the river—
The feeling that this place exists outside of human time.
Here, I start to feel like myself again, shaking off the dust,
My senses opening, my spirit taking the lead.
I can look square into fear’s eyes
and see it for what it is.
Out here, I start to forget how society tells me I should look or feel.
Or what other people think.
Here, I am enough.
My territory expands with the horizon.
I’m finding my pack.
Remembering my power—That I am strong. And connected.
I’m rooting down again, and finding my own balance.
Tuning in to my own rhythms as I slow down and sense the rhythms around me.
I know I’m not the first one to feel humbled by these canyon walls,
and I know I can’t just stay here forever.
But this tumbling, wild landscape reminds me of all the parts inside me that are tumbling and wild.
The parts that have been held captive and ache to be loosed and sun-kissed again.
Some people say the wild in us is just as endangered as these wild landscapes.
Sometimes I’m afraid that might be true.
So I’ll keep coming back here.
Where it’s quiet enough for me to hear my heart, what I’m really longing for.
Where this wild thing inside me remembers how to be just that: wild.
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