Nature’s forms and ways are the lost and silent languages of our soul. There is no representation sufficient to deliver them to us, and the shapes and images we make to represent them cannot return us to them or them to us. But if we will set down our stories, fashions, and books, the world will invite us to directly participate in this impossible ecstasy of mutual recognition. She will show us into a living library whose real nature is beyond the wildest fantasies of human beings. Then, we will begin to remember how to call each other into being in the most astonishing ways. And not only each other, but the world who is our place, our way, our soul’s mother, our companion, and our teacher. We do not come from human culture. We come from the heart of the sky. There is no human book that will lead us to our heritage and return our birthrights. Only the wild world. Only our intimacy with the living places, time, and beings.