Oct 20 2009
Spiritual, Earthy and Wild
There are three words that make me especially uncomfortable: spiritual, earthy, wild. I use them all the time, in one context or another, but always with just a touch of apprehension. All three words are loaded – fraught with meanings given them by thousands of naturalists before me. Might as well add the word “naturalist” to the list. I can’t even think about myself that way without feeling like something of a fraud. I notice plants, watch wildlife, and read the landscape while wandering through the woods, but I’m no naturalist. Not really.
What is spirituality? These days many people call themselves spiritual instead of religious, thereby distancing themselves from organized religions while still asserting a belief in some kind of intangible reality. Often such people claim a spiritual connection to the earth, though it’s never clear what this means. No doubt it means different things to different people. Yet the word “spiritual” implies the otherworldly, the ethereal, or a force transcending the physical. How can a skeptic like me believe that such a realm actually exists? There is no irrefutable proof one way or the other.
Someone says “earthy” to me and a groovy, long-haired dude and his girlfriend come to mind, both wearing clothes made with natural fibers. I catch a whiff of patchouli every time I hear the word. That and body odor. Is that the Grateful Dead I hear playing in the background? Why do I feel this sudden urge to dance barefoot while beating on a tambourine? No, I’m not that earthy. I’ve been known to hang upside down and naked from a tree branch overhanging a brook, splashing water into my face all the while, but most people would consider that kind of behavior strange, not earthy. Especially if there are no drugs or alcohol involved.
As for wildness, well, we all know how vague that word is. It means a thousand different things: unrestrained, untamed, out of control, or uncultivated to name only a few. The word “wild” is as hard to pin down as words like “truth” or “love.” My dog is utterly tame, yet there’s some wildness in her. Same goes for me, or am I only deluding myself? I obey traffic laws when I drive, file my taxes annually, and know how to behave myself in a social setting so how wild can I be? How wild is the wilderness area in which I roam when it takes an act of congress to keep it from being developed? How wild is wildlife when it’s being managed by biologists and bureaucrats? How wild is a gun-toting, motorcycle barbarian when he’s wearing gang tattoos? How wild can sex be when it’s only for fun? The wild, it seems, has been turned inside out.
Whenever I hike alone, deep into wilderness for days on end, I feel more spiritual, earthy and wild. That is, I feel a growing bond to the physical world, as well as to something reaching beyond the senses. I shed the trappings of social convention like an old skin, and commune with a wilder society consisting of plants, animals, rocks, forest duff, water and wind. In the wild, mud is no stranger to me. Blood-sucking insects aren’t either. In wilderness, the endless cycle of life and death is everywhere around me, so I can’t help but wonder what keeps it going. Nature? I can’t use that word any more without genuflecting. I am astounded by the natural world. I am rendered mute by the real. It is so far beyond any civilized understanding that there’s no sense talking about it at all.
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