I haven’t always been a wild man. I haven’t always lived in deep alignment with my soul. For most of my life I was living for others, or at least what I thought others wanted from me. I was living by “what I should do”.
This is why hunting feels so sacred to me. Hunting has been the most constant part of life on Earth for Millenia. Yin and Yang, life and death. I am honored to partake in it just as our ancestors have done since the dawn of time.
Yes, I kill animals even if I don’t have to in order to live. However, no matter what we do as consumers in this world we are takers. Even if we only live off of plants and fruits, we still take nutrients from the soil, habitat from wildlife, and life from Earth. Life cannot exist without death. The question is not “how can we avoid death”, but rather “how intimate can I get to death?” and “how can I be a part of the natural cycles of death?”
I don’t remember the first time I heard the word “bushcraft” used but I do remember that I have never liked the term. Despite my negative feelings toward the phrase it seems to be the most popular and newest subset of the survival world. From Instagram hashtags, to TV shows, to outdoor suppliers, bushcraft keeps slapping me in the face and I hate it. What gives?
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