Part 1 · Coming from Gratitude
To The Wild
🌀 Open Sentences on Gratitude — a WTR practice ▾
A practice from the Work That Reconnects · Joanna Macy & Molly Brown, Coming Back to Life (2014) · p.47 Active Hope
We begin with gratitude, for grounding and presence — not because everything is fine in the world, but because gratitude can quiet the frantic mind and remind us of our innate belonging in the world.
How it works
Do this in a group, in pairs — up to you. Maybe write things down if you're doing this solo. Read the sentence stems. Complete them in your own words. Keep talking spontaneously for 2–3 minutes — time it. Listen attentively to one another. No verbal responses required. Listening without comment is as important as speaking. Feel free to drop a bit of silence between the sentences, between the sharings.
The sentence stems
- Some things I love about being alive right now are...
- A place that was magical to me as a child was...
- A person who helped me believe in myself is or was...
- A moment recently when I felt genuinely present was...
- Some things I love doing and making are...
- Some things I really appreciate about myself are...
The last stem — appreciating ourselves — always comes last, so people can work up to it. No large-group sharing is needed afterwards. Three rounds of 2–3 minutes each is enough. · workthatreconnects.org
Read the Lyrics
Singing Key
Take me out to the wild for a while.
It reminds me I'm just passing through, a body borne in time.
It reminds me, I'm… just an animal….
And… I'm only here for a short while
Standing waste deep in the water, the Great Lake winds they speak to me
Coded in the breeze; hints of how things used to be
A shoal of fish glide round my feet and a tern hunt glides over me
Out there in the distance, I hear a wolf howl - There's a blood red moon tonight
And I think about my life and all the times I panic and I try to make it right,
living in the city
I think about the choice we made to leave all this behind us,
but it's hard to live out here
Take me out to the wild for a while.
It reminds me I'm just passing through, a body borne in time.
It reminds me, I'm… just an animal….
And… I'm only here for a short while
And if the weather turns and all my gear is broken
I'll face the night like the others on the mountain
and with no shelter, I'll be helpless, with no tooth, nor fur, nor claw…
Sunrise comes and I awake and I cast my line into the lake
Time will bring a feast to me of flesh and blood and bone
Behind me, there's this mystery - a forest as far as I can see
Out there in the gloaming, creatures prowling in the night, hungry for the feast in me
And I think about my life and all the times I worried and I felt sick in my mind,
living in the city, oh I think about the choice we made to leave all this behind us -
it's hard to live out here
Take me out to the wild for a while;
it reminds me I'm just passing through, a body borne in time.
Take me to the wild for a while; it reminds me, I'm just an animal….
I'm only here for a short while
I'm only here for a short while
I'm only here for a short while
I'm only here for a short while
I'm only here for a short while
I'm only here for a short while
I'm only here for a short while
Sit With This
- Do you romanticise "the wild"? Have you been there?
- How long would you survive without materials derived from petroleum?
- Where can you find the wild near your home?
- What can you do to safely bring more of it in — sleepouts, woods, vision quests?
- What practices help you touch the wild without endangering yourself?
🕸️ The Web of Life — a group activity ▾
"If you are a poet, you will see clearly that there is a cloud floating in this sheet of paper. Without a cloud, there will be no rain; without rain, the trees cannot grow; and without trees, we cannot make paper. The cloud is essential for the paper to exist. If the cloud is not here, the sheet of paper cannot be here either. So we can say that the cloud and the paper inter-are.
Interbeing is a word that is not in the dictionary yet, but if we combine the prefix "inter" with the verb "to be", we have a new verb, inter-be. If we look into this sheet of paper even more deeply, we can see the sunshine in it. If the sunshine is not there, the forest cannot grow. In fact nothing can grow. Even we cannot grow without sunshine. And so, we know that the sunshine is also in this sheet of paper. The paper and the sunshine inter-are.
And if we continue to look we can see the logger who cut the tree and brought it to the mill to be transformed into paper. And we see the wheat. We know that the logger cannot exist without his daily bread, and therefore the wheat that became his bread is also in this sheet of paper. And the logger's father and mother are in it too. When we look in this way we see that without all of these things, this sheet of paper cannot exist."
— Thich Nhat Hanh
How it works
One person holds a ball of string or thread and names a living thing they depend on — the sun, the rain, a bee, the soil, the ocean, a tree. They hold their end of the thread and throw the ball to someone else.
That person names another living thing that depends on — or gives life to — something already named. They hold their thread and throw the ball on. And so it goes, each person adding a strand to the web: a forest, a river, a fungal network, a cloud, a whale, the wind.
Keep going until the web is strung between you all — visible, held, alive. Then: the facilitator names one element and removes it from the web. Everyone who feels a tug on their thread raises their hand. What else moves when one thread is pulled?
Works for any group size. 8–12 minutes. Standing in a circle or seated. No large-group debrief needed — the web speaks for itself. You'll need a ball of string, wool or garden twine — if you don't have one, use a cushion or any throwable object and ask each person to remember their connection as the object travels around.
🌿 Cultivate a Sit Spot for noticing the life moving around you ▾
A practice from Nature Connection · Jon Young / Coyote's Guide to Connecting with Nature
Before the wild can be sung about, it helps to sit in it — even briefly, even indoors by a window.
How it works
Find a spot — ideally outdoors, but a window or a quiet corner works too. Sit alone in silence for 10–15 minutes. No task. No output. Just attend to what is alive around you — sound, light, movement, stillness. If all you have is a houseplant, give it your full attention. Is the soil still wild? The cells in the leaves that take your breath and transform it into flowers?
Is this something you can integrate into a daily practice? Natalie Fee sat under an oak every day for a year and the album 'Daughter of Nature' appeared, along with a book of poems. You never know what will emerge as you deepen your re-connection with inner and outer nature.
The Deeper Dive
I spent 5 days on a wilderness expedition in canoes in Canada. A short trip, but with 500 km of forest behind us, I felt the wild like I never had before. At first, this song sprang from the romantic notion of it and things I saw and felt awe for, but as the days ticked on and the supplies waned and the midgies turned into a tent-bound war machine, the sheer challenge of living wild turned the song towards more pragmatic waters. We left the wild behind for safety. We can't easily go back.