Wild Safety

I love it when my hips ache from walking and I’m reminded I exist. Inside a body, regardless of mental negotiations, the zigzag of concerns and self importance. Regardless of shame. When I feel my bones press into and away from my clothes I connect with desire in a physical way and I can hold it. I can tell you about it. With the movement of left foot, right foot, the rhythm that beats through the trees, sights, textures and scents make their impressions, then fade away twenty steps later. Place-tangled memories make me swear and curl up my fingers, the two dark brown ponies are running, leaves dancing up after them. Sheep stand still and stare as I climb over the slippery wood of a stile. Wet beech trunks show their stretch marks. I think about not having a baby inside me. How the elephants were on holiday when we visited London zoo. What my real voice sounds like.

What builds and what stays is something like an unshakeable core, my spirit’s knowing. Entering the supermarket in this state is extremely pleasurable. Most of the time it feels like performance and requires so much of me that it can take all day to get my head around, but right now I just am. Something is carrying me and it makes sense to narrow my eyes at the bright light, packaged vegetables and reduced christmas chocolate beside eggs and rabbits. I’m not constructing facial expressions, considering movements or when to look up and speak. I’ve come from the woods. There’s mud on my trousers. I’m looking for the toothpaste and I don’t care if I smell of sweat.