We are drawn to the wildness.

When hurricane Sandy came to the Maine coast I had an almost irresistable urge to go look at the ocean–in fact I wanted to go down at high tide but I did not dare. I know how low the dunes are and I know how big the oceans gets. So instead I went just past low tide.  It was 5:30 in the evening and as I pulled my car up the narrow alley of a street that leads to the dunes that lead to the beach I discovered that I was not the only one there–the entire street was lined with cars, the dunes were streaming people back and forth: people, wrapped tight in windbreakers; people sheltered against the flying sand and salt and still we came and still we had to see and still we needed to be close to the power because people are drawn to wildness.  We are not drawn to the tame, to the gentle, to the easily approached; we are not drawn to the easy; we are drawn to the wild places where tension stretches and breaks across sand dunes; we are driven to the place where the wild wild storm crosses the tame grass of our front yards and rushes across our doorsills.   We are drawn to chaos we are drawn to disorder we’re drawn to liminality, we are drawn to transition, we are drawn to change

even as we fear it we are drawn to the wildness that echoes the wildness in our own hearts.

So if you have thought to hide because you thought that by making yourself easy you would make yourself more appealing think again.  If you had thought to turn yourself inside out trying to be gentler than you really are think again. We sigh when we see the beautiful landscape stretch out before us: early, perfect, clear blue sky but when the tornado appears on the horizon we turn to that instead.  We are drawn to the wildness and the wildness is drawn to us.