Once upon a time
the people lived outside.
It small huts and houses,
made of mud, and clay, and bark, and brick, and rawhide.
Built by hands
of many shapes and sizes,
communities cooperating to provide for one and all.
The houses were small,
perfect for sleeping,
cuddling, kissing, dreaming,
But not much else.
So life happened under the sky,
the stars and the sun,
against the backdrop
of wind and weather.
Wet, and dry, and hot, and cold.
Cooking, and washing, and eating, and playing, and loving.
Learning, and making, and storytelling, and dancing,
and wailing, and praying.
With the wolves, and the slugs, and the deer, and the beavers,
and the birds, and the squirrels, and the fish, and the frogs,
and the sand, and the rocks, and the soil, and the trees.
Because that’s where they live too.
And the people were happy.
Not like now,
so sick, and sad, and lonely,
and cut off from everything wonderful
inside big modern houses
with so many rooms.
But none for really living.
Because living happens
without four walls to box us
Go outside. As much as possible. All day if you can.
Whenever you can. All the time.
Pack a lunch, pack dinner,
forage, and hunt.
Your body will quickly remember the tune of the ancient rhythms.
In the warm months it’s especially easy.
Reclaim your balcony, your front steps, your yard, your neighborhood, the world.
Let your house sit empty,
watch as spiders weave webs in the corners of each room.
Let the outside in,
but better yet,
let the inside out.
Let us rub our eyes and stretch,
for we’ve been asleep too long.
Laugh, and run, and bathe, and eat, and teach, and learn, and love.
The first step to our undomestication?
Let us learn
Thank you for listening,