what is it about the woods that brings something to life within us like nothing else can we try to capture it with words, lenses, paint, anything but it always escapes us although not without leaving behind some trace of itself what is it mystery the unknown but if you solve a mystery or know the unknown they can no longer be themselves their definitions change completely
out there you can feel him he's behind every tree and beneath every stone but you can never see him he is that mystery and that unknowable thing and when you're in the woods you come to find just how wild he really is at least just to get a touch and we know he's wild because everything created comes out of the heart of its maker
but what is the wild it has always been portrayed as something to respect and fear which is right and it is powerful except it is not always good but that is the earthly kind of wild and like everything else from this world it is broken there is evil in it but the true kind is completely pure it is the freedom and life found in a thrilling chase of the unknown the wild is both adventure and peace that collide all around it consumes us with the restless hunger to explore to hunt down a mystery but not primarily to solve it
in the woods we find little pieces of ourselves buried remnants of what should have been beautiful bits we've lost and forgotten we catch sight of how wild our own hearts are and realize that's exactly how they should've been from the start
Truly, the abandonment of myself was my freedom. No more pride, no more shame now that I've gone away. Against you I could never win But I couldn't believe that you wouldn't enslave me if I surrendered Except it was true. Restless, we either search for the reason we exist Or numb the ache with the drugs we've made. We let ourselves believe we've found our meaning But we deny the voices of our spirits that tell us, "there must be more" We fear disappointment. The problem is that somewhere along the lines we also blocked out hope. We tried making our lives into patterns and equations. In an effort to control we took rivers and tried to squeeze them into manmade, straight waterways. We got angry when the water spilled over the edges. Somehow it never worked because to live is to exist in unpredictability. Perfection was never what we thought. It was not straight lines or smoothly fulfilled plans. No, perfection was always and only love. Love with all it's messes and breaks. Love with all it's pain.