It started with a vision. Not the kind of fuzzy, metaphorical "vision" a CEO has for a company's fiscal year, but a literal, world-shaking visual event that tore the fabric of reality for a teenage girl in the California desert.
The girl was Barbara Ehrenreich.
You probably know her as the woman who went undercover to expose the brutal reality of low-wage labor in Nickel and Dimed. She was a PhD scientist. A staunch atheist. A woman who dedicated her life to the hard, cold facts of biology and social justice. But for decades, she kept a secret tucked away in a desk drawer—a journal entry from 1953 describing a mystical encounter so intense she thought she was losing her mind. When she finally published her memoir Living with a Wild God, she didn't just write a book; she dropped a bomb on the intellectual community.
Honestly, people didn't know what to do with it. How does a rationalist talk about "the Other"? How do you reconcile a scientific worldview with the feeling that the universe is actually teeming with a strange, non-human agency?
The Problem With "Spiritual" Experiences
Most people think living with a wild god is about yoga retreats or finding "inner peace." That's total nonsense.
Ehrenreich’s experience wasn't peaceful. It was terrifying.
In May 1953, during a road trip to Lowell, Massachusetts, 17-year-old Barbara stepped out of a car and saw the world "flame into life." The trees, the street, the very air—everything became hyper-real, pulsing with an intelligence that had nothing to do with humans. She described it as a "sudden catalytic action" where the world was no longer a collection of objects but a single, living presence.
She wasn't on drugs. She wasn't having a psychotic break—though she spent years fearing she might be a "closet schizophrenic." She was simply witnessing what she later called the "wild god."
The big mistake we make is assuming that if something is "supernatural," it must be benevolent. We want our gods to be therapists. We want them to care about our career paths or our breakups. But the "wild god" Ehrenreich encountered was indifferent. It was vast. It was potentially dangerous. It was, quite simply, other.
This is the core of the struggle. We are trained to believe that we are the only conscious actors in the room. Science tells us that matter is dead and we are the only things that "know" anything. If you start living with a wild god—or even just acknowledging the possibility of one—that hierarchy falls apart. You realize you might be the equivalent of an ant on a very busy, very crowded sidewalk.
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Why Scientists Are Finally Listening
You’d think the scientific community would have laughed Ehrenreich out of the room. Surprisingly, they didn't.
There is a growing movement in philosophy and physics called panpsychism. It’s the idea that consciousness isn't something "extra" that brains produce, but a fundamental property of the universe, like mass or charge. If you take panpsychism seriously, then Ehrenreich’s "wild god" isn't a ghost or a hallucination. It’s just the universe’s internal life making itself known to a human observer.
Philip Goff, a philosopher at Durham University, has argued extensively that our current scientific method is great for describing what matter does, but it’s completely silent on what matter is.
When we talk about living with a wild god, we’re really talking about a shift in perception.
- It’s the move from a "monological" world (where only humans speak) to a "dialogical" one.
- It requires an admission that we don't have all the data.
- It’s about intellectual humility.
Ehrenreich’s background in cellular biology actually helped her here. She understood that cells communicate. They have agendas. They move, they hunt, they defend. If microscopic cells have that kind of "agency," why should we assume the macro-scale universe is just a pile of rocks?
The Mental Toll of the Unseen
Let's be real: this kind of thing can mess you up.
For years, Ehrenreich lived a double life. By day, she was the rigorous intellectual. By night, she was the girl who saw the world catch fire. She avoided the topic because she didn't want to be lumped in with the "New Age" crowd, whom she mostly despised for their "solipsism"—the idea that you can manifest your own reality.
She hated the idea that we "create" the world. To her, that was just another form of human arrogance.
Living with a wild god means accepting that the world exists independently of us. It means acknowledging that there might be entities—call them gods, call them biological field effects, call them "the Other"—that have zero interest in our salvation.
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This creates a weird kind of loneliness. If you’ve had a "mystical" experience, you often find yourself stuck between two camps:
- The Dogmatic Skeptics: They tell you that you had a "migraine aura" or a temporal lobe seizure. (Ehrenreich checked; she didn't).
- The Religious Zealots: They want to put your experience into a box with a label on it, usually involving a specific set of rules and a collection plate.
Neither side fits. Living in that middle space—the space of the "wild"—is exhausting. It’s a constant state of "I know what I saw, but I don't know what it means."
Practical Realism in a "Haunted" World
How do you actually function if you suspect the universe is alive?
You can't just quit your job and stare at trees. Well, you can, but the rent is still due on the first of the month. Ehrenreich didn't become a hermit. She became a more fierce advocate for the living.
If the world is "alive," then the way we treat it—and each other—becomes a matter of cosmic etiquette. Exploiting a worker isn't just a labor violation; it’s an insult to the "animacy" of the world.
Think about the work of Robin Wall Kimmerer, author of Braiding Sweetgrass. She talks about "the grammar of animacy." In many Indigenous languages, you don't refer to a tree or a bay as "it." You use the same grammar you'd use for a person. This isn't just being "nice" to nature. It’s a factual correction of a colonial worldview that sees the world as a warehouse of "resources."
Living with a wild god is basically practicing that grammar.
It's a strange way to live.
One minute you're checking your email.
The next, you're looking at the pattern of shadows on your floor and feeling a prickle on the back of your neck.
You realize the shadows aren't just an absence of light. They are part of a conversation you aren't invited to.
Breaking the Silence
Most people have had at least one "weird" experience. A dream that came true. A sense of being watched in an empty forest. A moment where time seemed to stop.
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According to surveys by the Pew Research Center, nearly half of Americans say they have had a "religious or mystical experience." That’s millions of people. Yet, we talk about it like it’s a rare psychiatric fluke.
Ehrenreich’s goal in Living with a Wild God was to give people permission to be "rationalists with an asterisk." You don't have to give up your brain to acknowledge that your eyes have seen things your brain can't explain.
She often pointed to the work of William James, the father of American psychology. In The Varieties of Religious Experience, James noted that our "normal" waking consciousness is just one special type of consciousness, while all around it, parted by the flimsiest of screens, there lie potential forms of consciousness entirely different.
Most of us spend our lives reinforcing that screen. We use caffeine, routine, and social media to make sure we never have to look through the cracks.
But once the screen is torn, you can't un-see it.
Steps for Navigating the "Wild"
If you feel like you're starting to perceive this "wild" element of reality, don't rush to a priest or a psychiatrist immediately (unless you're actually in distress, obviously). Instead, try a more clinical, Ehrenreich-style approach to the "Other."
- Keep a "Black Box" Journal: Write down exactly what happened without trying to interpret it. Don't use words like "angel" or "energy." Use descriptive, physical language. What was the light like? What did your skin feel like?
- Read the Outsiders: Look into authors who didn't fit the mold. Read William James. Read C.G. Jung’s Red Book (with a grain of salt). Read the case studies of researchers like Dr. Bruce Greyson.
- Reject the "Love and Light" Narrative: If an experience is real, it’s probably going to be complicated. It might even be dark. Don't feel pressured to turn a terrifying encounter into a "blessing." It might just be an encounter.
- Stay Grounded in the Physical: Ehrenreich’s greatest strength was her commitment to the material world. If you’re "living with a wild god," you still need to eat your vegetables and vote in your local elections. The "wild" doesn't excuse you from the "human."
The world is much older and much weirder than we like to admit. Barbara Ehrenreich spent her life fighting for the truth, and in the end, she realized the truth included things she couldn't prove in a lab.
She didn't find "God" in the traditional sense. She found a "presence" that was "not-me." And maybe that’s all we really need to know—that we aren't alone in the universe, even if the things we’re sharing it with don't particularly care if we believe in them or not.
Stop trying to explain the mystery. Just start acknowledging it's there. That’s the first real step toward living with a wild god without losing your mind in the process.
Actionable Insight: How to Integrate the "Wild" Without Losing Your Edge
If you've encountered something that defies your rational worldview, the most productive path is active observation. Instead of trying to force the experience into an existing religious framework, treat it as a data point in a broader, more complex version of reality.
- Practice "radical noticing" for 10 minutes a day. Sit in a natural environment and look for patterns that don't seem random.
- Read "The Idea of the Holy" by Rudolf Otto. He coined the term numinous to describe the "mysterium tremendum"—the overwhelming mystery that is both terrifying and fascinating. Understanding this concept helps separate "wild" experiences from "comfortable" spirituality.
- Maintain your skepticism. It sounds counterintuitive, but the best way to honor a real experience is to ruthlessly discard the fake ones. Don't believe everything you think, but don't ignore what you've actually seen.