How can I be in touch with nature without being in touch with nature? My naked feet touch the cotton of my socks, the rubber in my shoes, the paved road. My body rarely meets the light and my mind is busy with dying opinions. Oh, how I long for nature! For stretching out an open hand through the thick mangrove roots of modern society, for breaking through the layers of man's fear of the wild. My own fear of the wild. For reaching the sun and the moon and the top of my lungs, for divulging, unearthing, exposing and living.
To walk naked next to you, to drink from a cold mountain stream, to make love in the shadow of tall trees. To follow the pulse of the wind through the leaves, to meet every part of you, not only the nice, not only the soft, but also the raw storm you carry underneath your skin, to watch you let go and unleash as I do the same and we join forces in a promised dance with the yet unseen.
To make room for the way of nature through me. Oh, how I long for nature! Oh, how I long for you! And the dance and the pulse and the sun and the light. But a hand stretched out can never be stopped. A force so strong can never be blocked. So I dance. And I live. And I scream and I love. I follow the pulse, I watch you let go. I break through my fear and I return to the wild.
This is a calling to slow down and listen. To take a deep breath and explore our personal connection with Mother Earth. The feminine and masculine, the beautiful and dirty, the real, the messy, the sacred. Once it was natural. Today it feels crucial.
For the next 100 Days I will write a book to the Earth. For the Earth. With the Earth. The book, and the journey, is also to you. For you. And with you. Together, we are everything.
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(Photo: Flickr/CC/Vinoth Chandar)