We Exist Within Nature- Not Outside of It
As I’ve gotten older and slowed down a little bit, I’ve become more invested in following cycles. The cycles of my own body, the cycles of the moon, the Wheel of the Year, of the land that I’m on; and how it’s all interconnected. Noticing how my body responds to the Earth and how the Earth responds to my body is a practice I hold dear. There is so much opportunity to understand the Earth through our bodies and our bodies through the Earth.
EcoSomatics
EcoSomatics is a term used to describe the inseparability of the Earth and our bodies. Our bodies come from the Earth and return to it. The ecology and landscape of our bodies is inextricably linked to the Earth. To the land we reside upon. To the beings, human and non-human, past and present, that reside there with us.
Eco-Somatics heals the separation between the mind, body and earth. Within the natural environment, as the natural environment. What is your relationship to the natural world? How does the ecology of your body reflect the landscape you’re in? We do not exist outside of nature- we exist within nature.
Through an eco-somatic lens, we strive to remember that we are an embodiment of the Earth as we move through the devastating effects of climate change. This is collective, it’s political, it’s communal. We recognize the stewardship of the people who tended to the land before colonization and effort towards Indegeous rights for land sovereignty and land back. The Earth demands our care and attention just like our bodies demand care and attention. From people that know how to do this.
As you reflect on your relationship with the natural world, notice how your body orients towards the land you’re on. Do you know the history of this land and its people? It’s flora and fauna? How do you move in relationship to the Earth underneath your feet? Perhaps this is a new practice for you.
Below are some of my dedicated practices, I invite you to read through and try some of these out if they call to you!
Seasonal Observances
In my 20s I began observing the Wheel of the Year through a Celtic lens- much of my ancestry is Celtic. And as I write this, we’re coming up on Lughnasadh: the first harvest. This day falls around the first of August and celebrates the first harvest of the growing season. The harvesting of the first grain and baking it into a loaf of bread to share with kin. There’s celebration and an abundance of gifts from the natural world and an understanding that we’ll soon be moving into the dark part of the year. We begin to say goodbye to the summer sun and it’s long shadows and orient towards what we’ll need to fortify ourselves for the dark.
This is an awareness practice. Noticing how our bodies respond to the seasons, to the cycles, to the plant and animal life, gives us a doorway into deeper intimacy with ourselves and the land we’re on.
Your rhythm might feel different than traditional interpretations of the season (winter is internal vs summer is external). That’s okay! Notice that and plan accordingly. Notice what months in your year tend to be great and which ones tend to be difficult. You get to build your life with these things in mind. Giving yourself permission to allow space for this.
I live in Los Angeles, the land of the sun-worshipers. I...am not this. I’m sensitive to light, I burn easily, and I don’t enjoy being hot. And more recently, I feel deep climate grief during the summer. It’s not an external or expansive time for me.
So we’re doing a couple of things here: we’re learning about the traditional interpretations of the seasons, the moon’s cycles, astro transits, you name it. And then we’re also noticing our own relationship to these things. You get to say “nope not true for me”. So for example: if I’m invited to a quintessential beach day with volleyball all the stuff and it’s over 90 degrees out- I’m probably not gonna have a great time. So I make allowances for myself. I’ll come as the sun is setting when it’s cooler. I’ll participate by bringing wood for the bonfire and singing a song in the dark. Also ps the self is never fixed and we’re changing all the time. What’s true for you this summer might not be true next summer. You can be flexible with these findings. Our bodies and the environment are living, breathing, ever-changing beings.
Plant Observance
Years ago I studied Herbal Medicine in Midwifery at the California Herbal School and a practice they imparted was to find a spot on the land you’re on that you can regularly return to. And watch how the landscape changes from sunrise to sunset, season to season. Bringing a notebook or sketch pad along to record what you’re noticing. Befriend this place and notice how it changes over the course of a year. Do you see yourself in this?
For the last couple of years I’ve been doing this with a grapevine in my yard. It had been neglected for years (we didn’t even know it was there when we moved in- it was curled up with a hidden rosebush and our holly tree) and at the start of the pandemic I found myself in deep need to be in relationship with what already existed in the yard. I tended to this vine, lovingly rerouting it in a direction where it could grow and safely expand. Spending time with this vine kept me in touch with my surroundings and my body amidst the chaos and stuckness. Here’s a little something I wrote earlier this year about that relationship:
Working with this vine makes me feel grounded and radiant and connected. I learn lessons from this relationship. With some tending, she flourishes. When ignored, she withers. She has an intuitive understanding of how to move but needs just a hint of guidance so she grows in a direction that’s sustainable. I watch her tendrils reach out to connect with the environment around her and sometimes have to lovingly course correct if she begins to wrap around something unstable.
She lets me know if I’m moving her in a direction she doesn’t want to go. She puts up resistance. And we work together to find a direction that allows her to maintain her integrity, protect her fruit, and allows her to flourish and keep growing. I am this grapevine. This grapevine is me. When my hands are on her I feel my ancestors who moved to California to harvest grapes during the depression. They worked with vines in hard times, as have I. I often wonder if they heard the vines whisper in the way that I do now. Right now her fruit is ripening and I find myself excited to wake up every day to look out my bedroom window and see how she’s doing. I did the same thing last year.
I (and the birds and the squirrels) will harvest the fruit again this year and notice what is similar and what is different. About her and about me.
And this is the beauty that connecting with the cyclical nature of plants provides. An opportunity to feel ourselves in relationship with the earth. In relationship with our ancestors. In relationship with those who tended the land long before we came. It’s an opportunity to notice the passage of time and what changes from year to year. As well as what remains the same.
This is a practice of taking time to notice your external and internal landscape- how do they mirror each other? How do they differ? Where do these sensations exist inside and outside of you? When you see a sunflower turning to follow the sun, do you feel that in your body? Where? Are there places in nature/your body that aren’t ready for you to enter yet? Can you respect that?
Moon Observance
A monthly ritual (that I also began in my 20s) is observing the moon. Watching it wax and wane in the sky and noticing my own body waxing and waning alongside it. Sometimes they mirror each other. Sometimes they don’t. This is neither bad nor good. It’s a relationship.
Every new moon I set intentions for the cycle ahead. I do this in community and allow myself to be witnessed and share in the witnessing of others. Setting intentions in this way isn’t wishing or simply naming something in hopes that it will shift (though I do believe in the power of speaking something out loud). It’s about taking stock and noticing where I am in my integrity and where I’m not. Asking myself what I want to shift in order to live my life as expansively as I can. And that means dusting out the corners sometimes. It also means putting in intentional effort towards those shifts and accepting when things don’t change right away. I find it to be a lovely way to be close to myself and the people I’m in community with. Sitting with others on the new moon often shows me that there’s a collective thread that’s being tugged; that what I’m going through is often what others are going through too. It’s a nice reminder that we’re not alone in our experiences.
Every full moon I bathe under the moonlight (weather allowing) and allow myself to shed what I don’t need anymore. Or celebrate if that’s what the cycle calls for. I take time to reflect on the intentions I set over the new moon and see where I’m at with them. And tbh sometimes this looks like “oh wow I just don’t have the capacity to be with that thing this cycle” and shedding it. Celebrating exactly who I am and where I’m at in the present. It’s also noticing what it feels like to allow my body to move around naked under cover of darkness while gazing at the light of the moon. Noticing how the moonlight changes how I see my skin. Which creatures come out and are therefore a part of this ritual. Noticing how this ritual feels in the summer and how it feels in the winter. What allowances need to be made? Can I make those allowances or am I rigid?
And it fluctuates. Just like the Earth. Just like my body. Observing the moon allows me to be with my physical body, spiritual body, emotional body- my whole soma alongside the environment I live in, alongside celestial bodies. Sinking into this relationship, this connection, offers a sense of belonging.
Wherever I am my body is there too, and so is the moon.
Rooting Down into the Earth
Rooting down into the earth is a practice I come to daily. I go outside to feel the earth underneath my bare feet (you can do this indoors too- anywhere really) and move my body into a low squat. As I breathe out I send my roots down. As I breathe in, I invite Earth energy up into my body through the soles of my feet. I stay here until I feel complete or until my body has an impulse to do something else.
Some things to play with here might be:
Letting your roots interact with the mycelial network underneath your feet.
Anchoring your body into the earth. Extending down into the land you’re on.
Noticing the history here. The history of the plants, animals, the more than human world. Noticing the history of the people who stewarded the land long before you came.
And now extending that root down and out. Through the landmass you’re on. Perhaps overseas. To where your ancestors lived. Notice what’s here too.
And ask yourself, can I allow myself to see my body and the earth as one? Do I feel a response in my body when I drop in that question?
Like all practices, we come in with intention and presence. And we allow our bodies to repeat these rituals. We notice the subtle shifts from day to day, month to month. It’s in the repetition that we deepen our relationship. Taking time to notice how our bodies respond to ritual. We see it with our pets and children and can begin to notice it in ourselves as well.
Begin to sit in inquiry:
What does my cyclical rhythm look like?
How do my inner landscape and my external landscape communicate?
What’s being spoken here?
What is my relationship with my body? The land I’m on? It’s history and its people?
What did my ancestors’ relationship with their bodies look like? The recent ones and the ancient ones?
Earth based practices connect us with ourselves, the land, our histories, our community and towards a future of collective liberation. Liberation and connection for all bodies.