The World Is Not Silent, We’ve Just Forgotten How to Listen
EcoSpirituality begins when we stop seeing nature as scenery and start listening to it as kin
If you’ve ever felt like nature is speaking but you can’t quite hear it, or wondered how to deepen relationship beyond appreciation, I am writing this for you.
We often speak of nature as if it’s something over there, a place we visit, admire, or retreat into when life gets too full.
But in ecospirituality, we work with a different understanding.
We live within a vast, living web of relationship that includes humans and more-than-humans alike.
The phrase more-than-human world, coined by ecologist and philosopher David Abram, reminds us that the world is not ours alone. Trees, rivers, crows, mosses, clouds—all of them are part of this sacred kinship. They are not a backdrop or a resource. They are participants in the spiritual field of our lives.
Nature Isn’t Silent; We’ve Forgotten How to Listen
Ecospiritual practice begins when we slow down enough to listen—not with our ears alone, but with our whole being.
I’ve experienced this in small, unmistakable ways. When I call chickadees who live in the trees nearby by name, and they answer, flying to me. When I look into my dogs Winston and Banks’ eyes as they sleepily look back, they stare back with a depth of feeling that’s undeniably a relationship, not just instinct.
Last week on a Camino walk, I asked a tree for permission to touch its bark. Before making contact, I held my hand just above the surface, like a Reiki practitioner sensing energy. I felt warmth rising from the wood, an invitation to stay present for a few moments more before touching directly.
This wasn’t imagination. This was communication.
The more-than-human world speaks in rustles, root systems, wingbeats, warmth beneath your palm. Not as metaphor, but as meaning.
Listening Requires Meeting Them at Their Pace
When I walk now, whether on the GR 65 pilgrimage route in southern France or through the streets of Paris, I move with openness. Like going to a party hoping to meet new friends, I walk expecting a connection.
But here’s the key learning I experienced: I move faster than trees. Birds float by on their own time. Wind arrives when it arrives. To listen, I have to get out of my own way and meet these more-than-human beings at their pace, not mine.
This means pausing when something catches my attention. Breathing with the rhythm of rustling leaves instead of my rushing thoughts. Staying long enough for a relationship to emerge instead of treating nature as something to pass through on my way somewhere else.
What Opens (and What Closes)
When I’m in relationship with the more-than-human world, everything feels richer. More hopeful. Every time I walk outside, water my houseplants, play with my dogs, or notice endless signs of life around me, the world expands beyond my personal concerns.
But when I forget, when I distance myself from this kinship, I sink into my own problems or the world’s problems. Both become more internally focused, more isolated.
This feels lonelier. Sometimes hopeless. After all, what can I do alone about climate change, species extinction, or political intractability?
But kinship practice reminds me that I am not alone. I’m in a relationship with a living world that’s still here, still communicating, still inviting connection.
How Can I Try This Myself?
Today, take notice of one thing in your local landscape, such as a tree, a bird, a cloud, or a patch of ground that somehow interests you. Don’t worry about why it interests you or catches your attention. Just go with it.
Stand or sit with them for 30 or 60 seconds. Slow down. Leave the phone or human others alone. Notice your breath. Notice theirs (yes, even stones breathe in their way, slowly, over centuries).
Then ask: What might you be trying to teach or communicate to me right now?
You may not hear words. But you might notice a shift in your body. A feeling of warmth or settling. An image or sense that arises. A simple awareness of not being alone.
This is the practice: not control, but communion. Not mastery, but mutuality.
The more-than-human world is speaking. The question is, can we slow down enough to listen?
What beings near you have been trying to get your attention lately? I’d love to hear in the comments below.
🌿 Thank you for reading Where Insight Meets Earth. If you’ve felt the pull toward deeper relationship with the more-than-human world, forward this to someone who might be listening too.
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