Belonging to the Wild

Belonging to the Wild

by Lorriiii Dragon Dream

Before words, before shape, before story you were wild muscle and ancient breath, a pulse made of earth and fur and knowing.

There’s a creature inside every one of us:
soft-furred, sharp-eyed, ocean-deep, sky-wide.
It knows without needing proof.
Trust the one who lived
before language grew teeth.

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There is a wild intelligence woven into every living thing — a way of sensing that doesn’t ask for permission or proof. Trees lean toward the light without doubting their direction. Birds feel the pull of seasons without needing a map. Wolves don’t apologize for hungering, for belonging to the pack, for trusting the language of wind and scent and bone.

We, too, were born with this instinctive knowing.

There was a time when our bodies were our first guides — when we listened with skin and breath and pulse, when truth was something we felt in the gut, not something we measured against expectation.

But we learned to trade instinct for acceptance, to tame our edges so we could fit into lives too small for us.

And yet — underneath every layer of civility, beneath every performance of safety and sense, the wildness remains.

It waits in the space between breaths, in the way your body tightens when something is off, in the sudden stillness when you feel seen by the world, in the quiet pull toward people and places that remember you.

The wild is not outside us. It is what we are made of.

To return to it is not regression — it is remembering. It is wholeness. It is coming home to our original knowing — the one that lived inside us long before we learned to be tame.

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Before We Learned to Behave

by Lorriiii Dragon Dream

Under every polished word
is a snarl we swallowed
to be allowed into rooms
that never fed us.

Under every practiced smile
is a jaw built to tear lies open
and taste clean truth.

We are not refined things.
We are disguised things.

And sometimes the deepest prayer
is simply to unbutton the human costume
and breathe like the earth meant us to --
raw, porous, awake
to scent and shadow and pulse.

Sometimes the sacred thing
is not enlightenment,
but aliveness.

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