There's a marvelous body of ecstatic poems by the Indian poet Kabir from the 15th century. The translations by Robert Bly are especially beautiful. It's in that style that I'd like to continue my dialog [click here and here] about how wildness exists not just "out there" but through relation.

曳.

Suppose you fasted and slapped your head, and stuck
thorns in your lips,
Slept next to a skull and then yelled at dawn
of your love bottom to top
to the Holy One, so that he would hear.

That would be like telling a tick not to bite.

If you imprison the Guest in a synagogue, church, or mosque,
What do you expect?

Friend, listen! When our bodies are close
that heat comes from another world.