“Thou strange piece of wild nature!” Colley Cibber
Lions, four-leaf clovers, and hairs all have wild tendencies. Though I love to hunt for them, I’m not in their category.
Wild I’m not, but my thoughts are a different story.
These last few weeks, I’ve been reading Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are. If you haven’t read it in a while, you may remember that the little boy was mischievous. “I will eat you up!” were the words that sent him to his room without supper. Wild.
My coffee hadn’t kicked in, but later I truly connected with the author. The wild monsters tell the boy, “We’ll eat you up. We love you so!” Of course, the little boy remembers that he loves his mother so much; he wants to eat her up. The story is also about needing food. It’s about a hunger for love and attention, which we all experience when we’re wild.
A young, wild man found himself in the detention center. He tried to help people, but soon gave up. He tried to kill himself, and sat in front of us–a mess–still wild, but hopeless.
I admire some parts of the wild, yet I’m happy most of the time to just watch and shake my head. Wild. The animal in the woods that crouches down in pursuit of its prey. Wild. The person who quits a job to follow a dream. Wild. The broadway actress who pours her life on the stage for her supper. Wild. The dancer who choreographs her soul. Wild. The little girl running around in my head. Wild.
Sometimes, I’m wild. Though I conform and listen quietly, I’m wildly screaming out, “You’re boring us all to death!” To let it out would devastate. I’d surely be sent to my room. I’m baring my teeth when I’m given a job that wastes my time. It’s funny that when I was younger, I didn’t feel bothered by busy work, but now, my time is short. I’m limited. Sowing my wild oats has to be done quickly, within some parameters, but with wild intensity.
There are things about which I’m wildly passionate. I’m wild to free those who limit themselves with their own thinking. I’m wild to open a cage to set a prisoner free. I’m wild to balance the lack of opportunity for the poor. Wild. It comes in spurts, but can produce more with consistency.
Like the little boy, I used to dream of being in the wild places. Can I still, or have I been tamed? When will I dream the visions of God? He’s ready, but am I Where the Wild Things Are?
“The more wild and incredible your desire, the more willing and prompt God is in fulfilling it, if you will have it so.” Coventry Patmore