Poets have always known that in wild places too, we may expand into larger identities.

I entered the life of the brown forest, And the great life of the ancient peaks, the patience of stone I felt the changes in the veins In the throat of the mountain,     and, I was the stream,
Draining the mountain wood; and I the stag drinking:     and I was the stars,
Boiling with light, wandering alone, each one the lord of his own     summit;     and I was the darkness
Outside the stars, I included them, They were part of me.     I was mankind also, a moving lichen
On the cheek of the round stone ... they have not made words for it...

“Not Man Apart” Robinson Jeffers