The Innocence of Naturalness
Spring is here and this desert is shamelessly alive.
Last week, three Green Mojave rattlesnakes in two days (or potentially the same one) that Oli, my husband, wrangled and relocated. Each time, he came back a bit wiser and more attuned to dancing with primal fear: snake medicine.
The gentle desert tortoise is out and about too, feasting on wildflowers.
Photo by my friend + collaborator, Martín Mancha
All manner of birds are everywhere, singing their dawn chorus with unapologetically blissful abandon. On a morning hike with Bodhi the dog, a baby bird chirp-hops out of a bush, straight into Bodhi’s open mouth, gobbled up in one go; from the bright sunlight of morning into darkness.
I shriek and scream a futile drop it, drop it!
He looks at me sheepishly, tail between his legs as the words bad dog harshly tumble out of my mouth.
But wait: I’m admonishing him for being completely in tune with his nature out in wild Nature, for being himself. If a snake or a coyote came along and gobbled up that tiny bird, would I dumbly yell at them, projecting my human morality onto this completely natural unfolding?
The irony of my reaction is not lost on me. So much of my life and work in the world is about rewilding ourselves, our bodies; of reclaiming the colonized parts of us, and slowly creating the safety and capacity to shamelessly be in our naturalness, our authenticity - which is also our innocence.
And yet, here I am, horrified at my dog doing exactly that, expecting him to conform to my humanness (which, as a domesticated animal, he does all most of the time anyway.)
Memories arise of the times as a child I was shamed and admonished for expressing the naturalness of my wild little body - and how the shame lived on in me, becoming the identity layer of my own inner oppressor, creating pain and inflammation. Until I came to this desert ten years ago, and let it start doing away with all that.
Good girl I was told, when I repressed all that was true and wild and innocent in me: my naturalness.
Bad girl, shame on you when at the age of 5 or 6 my mother found me and my two little friends doing a very primal naked-squatting dance, laughing and giggling, delighting in the discovery of the wildishly sensual sensations of the body.
The shameless innocence of naturalness pushed into the shadows, paved over by shame and guilt - the prerequisites of being a good girl, of being civilized.
I’m sorry, Bodhi. His eyes spoke understanding, and we roamed a bit further into the wilderness that day on our hike.
This isn’t the first or last time I’ll be writing about the innocence of our naturalness.
For now, I’ll leave you to feel into this ‘equation’:
Our naturalness = our authenticity = our innocence.
There are important nuances to this, which if not acknowledged and felt, can create distortion and harm, and which I’ll be exploring in future missives.
I’d love to hear what arises for you - including and especially disagreements, which create the necessary biodiversity for growth and evolution.