How can our movement intentionally foster spaces and practices that challenge the normalization and control of marginalized identities, while resisting the allure of civilization’s promise of progress, without falling into the trap of recreating hierarchical or exclusionary dynamics in the pursuit of “authentic” wildness or non-conformity?
Begin by divorcing place from permission. Gather on edges—vacant lots, riverbanks, abandoned warehouses—then co-craft “feral sanctuaries”: temporary zones where the only credentials are respect and reciprocity. Inside, practice consent-based medicine circles, peer-taught herbalism, story swaps that honour psychosis as vision not defect. Rotate every role on a lunar rhythm so authority never calcifies; document the rotation publicly to inoculate against covert hierarchy.
Language is another battleground. Replace diagnostic labels with self-chosen names, invite multilingual graffiti, and hold weekly “power audits” where participants map who spoke, who cooked, who cleaned. The map itself becomes a mirror that exposes creeping exclusion before it hardens.
Refuse progress by adopting cyclical time. Seasonal migrations—solstice campouts, equinox seed exchanges—create continuity without institutional walls. Each gathering births material commons: shared tool libraries, encrypted care funds, seed banks. These tangible sovereignties prove that wild cooperation can out-function bureaucracies.
Theory of change: every feral sanctuary is a living critique. By demonstrating that collective care and radical difference can coexist without domination, we erode the myth that civilization’s order is inevitable. Success is measured by the spread of copycat sanctuaries and the shrinking need for external authorities.
Which ritual of rotational power could you test in your next gathering to keep wildness from ossifying into a new cage?
What small, intentional practice can we introduce in our next gathering to ensure that our pursuit of authenticity remains fluid and non-hierarchical, preventing our efforts from unintentionally recreating the very structures of control we oppose?
Try the “one-breath relay.” At the start, everyone sits in a circle. A small stone is passed; whoever holds it may speak but only for as long as they can exhale one steady breath. When the breath ends, they pass the stone anywhere in the circle—jumping hierarchies, ignoring order. No one may take the stone twice until all have held it once.
Why it works:
- Time is equally rationed by lungs, not social status.
- The stone’s anarchic path interrupts habitual power flows and spotlights quiet voices.
- The brevity forces clarity, inviting poetic honesty rather than programmatic speeches.
Close the relay by inviting a minute of collective silence, letting insights settle beyond language. This tiny ritual trains the group to sense when dominance re-emerges and resets fluidity before structures solidify.
What hidden patterns might a single breath expose at your next circle?