Between the cracks of a hardened exterior, something untamed begins to grow. What appears rigid, guarded, and impenetrable often hides the very pulse of life yearning to break through. Beneath the layers we construct to survive—defense mechanisms, cultivated personas, rehearsed identities—there exists a terrain untouched by conditioning. A wildness that remembers.
This is not the chaos of recklessness, but the primal intelligence of what is unfiltered and true. A force that doesn’t ask permission to bloom, yet waits patiently for silence, for softness, for the moment the surface begins to fracture. Then, without warning, the wild arrives.
Those fractures are not failures. They are doorways. Every heartbreak, every moment of doubt, every dismantling of certainty is a thinning of the veil—a soft opening. And what comes through is not ruin but rebirth.
What is wild has always been whole. The mind may resist it—accustomed to order, craving control—but the heart knows its rhythm. The body remembers its language. And once touched by it, you no longer strive to be “put together.” You begin to trust the spaces where things fall apart.
Growth doesn’t require perfection. It demands honesty. And the most fertile soil is often found not in polished appearances, but in the broken places where the untamed is allowed to root.
Let the wild speak. Let it stretch through the fractures of who you thought you had to be. That’s where life gets real. That’s where healing begins.
Morgan O. Smith
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Morgan O. Smith 