I left Who Was in the Earth So I Can Be Who I Am

In the fall of 2019, I sat on my couch one day. An odd feeling fell over me. A memory of who I thought I was up until a few months earlier, but had not noticed was gone, drifted into my mind. I thought, normally I would be watching the sumo tournament that was being held at that time, but it had not even come into my mind to watch it this time.

I had been a Japanophile. After returning from a year in Japan as a Rotary Youth Exchange student when I was 19, “all things Japanese” was who I was. I spoke Japanese, I watched Japanese TV, I listened to Japanese music, I cooked Japanese food and I read Japanese books. I seemed to run into lots of people who had an interest in Japan, wanted to go there, and met a lot of Japanese people wherever I went (and impressed them with my language skills, of course). I had Japanese people tell me I was more Japanese than they were. I tried to get back there as often and for as long as I could - going probably 8 times adding up to about two and a half years altogether. I had watched every 15-day sumo tournament, six times a year, for over 10 years. I got curious, how had this seemingly major aspect of my life disappeared without me noticing?

I sat and thought - what happened? What had I done differently? What was new? After a few “No, I don’t think that's it," I remembered that I did go to Wildman a few months earlier for the first time. When I first heard about The Wildman Gathering from a brother in the Shamanic Priest Process community, I thought “Definitely not for me!” By then I had learned that a reaction like that really means, “most likely would be good for me!” so I signed up. Still, I thought it would be my first and last. Have you met me? What about me says “wild man?” I would be able to say I tried it, hold no regrets, and keep searching for the thing that would make the life of “who I thought I was” more comfortable.

Back on the couch, I continued to wonder where this “who I am” part of me went, I reviewed my memory of the Wildman weekend. On a sunny Friday, I drove from Cincinnati to Marshall, North Carolina feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. When I arrived, I felt welcomed by all of the 50 or 60 men who were gathered from North Carolina, St. Louis, New York, DC, and other places. The circle was opened, agreements were made and housekeeping items were listed. After dinner, we walked further up the mountain together for the Fire initiation: a 20-foot firewalk. Things started to get wild.

I should pause here to talk about which meaning of the word “wild” I am writing about. There are two main uses of the word, one generally negative and one that is generally positive in our cultural language. The negative one is the one we hear the most. “Look at that wild child, with no regard for society” implies that we will have to teach that one how to behave correctly. I didn’t want to be called wild as a boy - that seemed dangerous. Then there is the other sense of the word. “Some of the Amazonian Rainforest still grows wild - growing and repeating ancient and sacred cycles, maintaining balance in ways my modern mind cannot comprehend, devouring what might otherwise end in excess and giving gifts of life, medicine, and purified air.” Is “wild” not Nature, allowed to do what knows how to do? My mind may not be able to grasp that level of intelligence, but my heart knows it as a sanctuary and my legs yearn to run to it. The feet of these men’s bodies knew how to walk on fire and that the next thing to do was dance.

Saturday, we used breathwork to connect to the element of Air and allow our spirits to soar. Later we walked along the stream to a place where there are falls and were initiated by Water. Cleansed, we let go into the water what it was that was holding us back. Here, I learned that I could trust these men.  

The Earth initiation was Sunday morning. In groups of 8 to 10 men, we stood around a shallow grave. When I was tapped on the shoulder, the sign that it was my time, I fell to the ground. The other men placed my body on a sheet and gently lowered it into the grave. They spoke and gestured to let me know: “We remove your liver, and your anger with it.” “We remove your lungs and free your grief in this life.” After addressing the other major organs, they finally enacted removing my brain, saying “and thoughts that keep you from being who you are.” I was wrapped up in the sheet and felt earth covering my body. As each man said a eulogy over me, tears flowing, I allowed myself to drop into the underworld. When I came back, and as I slowly stood up next to that grave, I felt different but I didn’t know how or what was different. I just saw the world looked different. 

The Earth! The Earth took it! The fire, air, and water loosened it up but the Earth held that layer of me when the rest came back to the surface. Maybe it still lives down there below where the warmth of the sun and tree roots reach. That part of me that I needed to “be someone”, to be interesting. Maybe it is composted and feeds other life in a more wild way.  

How did I know how to do that? Or even that it was possible?  

My wildman knows how.

I still love Japan and the people I know who live there. I tell stories of that past life. If you look around my house you will see some habits and artifacts from that life. I could serve you a sencha tea and we could talk about it - if it interests you. But I wouldn’t need you to think I am interesting because of it.