Wildness holds the beauty of the world. There are some who profit from or feel protected by the stillness of others; from knowing they are frozen in fear. They find a strange comfort in knowing that millions of people blindly donate their life’s blood, living only to maintain a pulse. To live in this life-fear is to lose touch with the wildness.
Forget all groups who thrive on conformity. Remember only the wildness and tangled beauty around you.
The whistleblowers are merely sacrificial lambs. We need another mechanism for truth-letting other than consuming the lives of the brave or naïve. Making them into martyrs only serves those who hide the truth. By the time they are canonized, what they fought to expose is forgotten.
No, it is better to open up to all that is unnamed; all that is part of the pulsing, living, terrible wildness; the place where language cannot freeze voice. There is writing in this place. There is everything that lives wildly. Fear is present and acknowledged so it cannot be master. There is bowing to each other and reverence for all life; and there is compassion for those both weaker and stronger.
The wildness is not the wilderness. It is someplace else.
