Recently walking along the footpaths of our land in the foothills of the Oregon Cascades, a naturalist friend marveled at the species diversity along the way. It wasn’t always like that. Continually mowed before our purchase, much of the land was blackberries and canary grass. In the twenty years since then, we have ceased mowing. With help from the local watershed council, my wife has planted over five-hundred trees. Now I look out my window at Hemlock, Douglas Fir, Redwood, Western Red Cedar, and a Cottonwood over seventy feet tall.
I recalled earlier walks this past spring and remembered the Trilliums that popped up along the wooded paths. They led the way. Then their cousins, the Fairybells and Twisted Stalk, followed. Along came the Bleeding Hearts, Pacific Waterleaf, Fringe Cups, Candy Flower, and many more to fill in all the gaps of the forest floor. Though many of these species were here twenty years ago, their profusion was not. What changed? The wooded areas were unmowed and untended before we came. We left them that way, just creating narrow pathways for walking. Why is the understory so verdant now? My only activity was walking these paths with attention, appreciation, and sometimes joy for what I saw growing along them.
Several weeks later, my wife and I strolled through the newly seeded village park near our home. We admired the Yarrow and California Poppies scattered about in a bed of Red Clover. The next day I attended my Tai Chi class at the local library overlooking the park. During class, I spotted several men carrying string trimmers. Knowing they planned to shear off the wildflowers and civilize the park, I was dismayed. I felt helpless.
Yes, I was physically helpless. I’m not in charge of the municipal park's landscape management. However, I could turn my appreciation of the wildflowers into a subtle alert, calling out subvocally, “There’s a storm coming; be prepared.” Reaching out to Pan, I asked this universal Gaian being to pass along the alarm. Immediately, I sensed the maple trees adjacent to the Tai Chi space become startled by a human in their midst. Then I felt the wildflowers beyond them acknowledge the warning and respond with gratitude. This response took place in the blink of an eye, but I knew the natural
world had noticed me.
Reflecting on my two experiences, I sensed how nature weaves together matter and spirit. My experiences enhanced my appreciation of the natural world and strengthened my sense of wholeness. These events triggered an inner dialogue that stimulated three questions as I prepared for the course I’m facilitating this fall. They centered around the mutual awareness between ourselves and nature when we immerse ourselves in it.
These questions are:
–When I observe the natural world, is Nature aware of me?
–When I enhance my sensory appreciation of my natural surroundings, do I create a deeper connection to nature beings?
–And, when I expand my perception of the natural environment, does Nature benefit?
Framing the questions differently, I might ask. What emerges when you merge science and sensitivity? Are both beneficial?
A friend of mine said to me recently,
“I hear the call of nature, but she asks me not to see her with my eyes nor hear her with my ears. Rather she asks me to build alliances with her within my heart. She wishes me to be with her as a partner, not as an object of study.”
I agree. If our minds and hearts are not one, we fall into the mental trap of identification and classification. We short-circuit our capacity for a more profound connection with the natural world. What if our minds and hearts are one when we hear Her call and observe Her with the whole of our presence?
Unable to answer this question myself, I thought of a much older friend who might be able to. We have become acquainted over the past couple of years. I don't know how old he is, but judging by his girth, I estimate his age to be over three hundred but less than five hundred years. As a Douglas Fir in a nearby remnant old-growth forest, he (my sense of his presence) stands along a path I frequent weekly. I seldom ask him a direct question. However, who else in nature could I turn to? So, coming to him with a clear mind and open heart, I placed my palm upon his bark and asked, “When humans notice you or other plants and animals, does this aid Nature?”
There was an unequivocal "Yes" from him and the surrounding forest. They continued,
"When you perceive and acknowledge us, you create a connection between the two of us. We sense this as love. With love, we thrive. The more you focus your awareness on us, the deeper this loving connection becomes. Love for us is the energy for life. We manifest more fully in this loving connection."
After this, the forest voice fell silent. The songs of birds and the buzzing of insects returned. Gratitude and joy filled me. Overflowing with lightheartedness, I walked to my car. The grandfather tree and the forest answered my questions. Yes, our appreciation supports and benefits the natural world. Even the simple act of noticing creates beneficial loving relationships. By deepening our awareness, we foster the possibility of communication and cooperation between ourselves and nature.
Ron Hays will be co-leading a 9-week class called "Deepening Into Nature and Oneself" along with Deb Scrivens and Mindy Springer. Click here for more info and to register.