Experiencing Nature as Conscious Creation

I wonder what might shift when we allow our experience of being part of Nature or expressions of Nature to become re-enchanted with the profound magic of creation stories that are a fundamental basis for ancestral belief systems all around the world? What might arise within the Regenerative community as we make more space for ‘non-ordinary’ ways of sense-making, for our different cosmologies, for spiritual re-wilding…

As definitions of Nature to include humans are being redrawn through campaigns such as We are Nature , how might narrative aspects of creation and origin stories also bring their richness to a largely material or biological understanding of the Earth? How might ways of experiencing the planet as a conscious, living being serve as a bridge into the wisdom of our ancient stories? And how might entering into those stories provide us with wisdom needed today?

Following the recent passing of Stephan Harding , ecologist, teacher and proponent of Gaia Theory , I’ve been reflecting on how his legacy and the tenets of the Gaian perspective can support greater awareness and acceptance of the consciousness within everything, and how this brings us into profoundly different relationship, not just understanding, with all of Life.

“When you’re in the presence of, let’s say, a great red gorge of rocks– as I have been in the Outback – there seems to be something much more going on there in terms of consciousness. Those rocks where I was in Western Australia, they’re 3,500 million years old. And they’ve been part of the very ancient times of the planet and they’re very old and quiet. Their consciousness is very mysterious… I think it’s something to do with the deep soul and memory of Gaia and of nature. In that sense the rocks have a deeper consciousness than ours – in which our little consciousness is immersed. So you could say that the whole Earth is a great consciousness. It’s not outside us; we’re inside it.”

When we understand, as he was describing, the lithosphere to also be imbued with consciousness, and the mineral kingdom from which we originate, the dust that divine breath breathed upon, we begin to notice how creation stories articulate powerful and important truths, poetic, literal or both, that mirror this belief in a conscious planet within a conscious universe.

Origin stories from across the world share common themes, such as:

???????? an all-embracing Great Spirit, the ultimate expression of Creator

???????? significant spirit beings involved in creation - Sky Woman, Sun Mother, Pacha Mama that may come from other realms

???????? the creation of the Earth and its landscapes - the Rainbow Serpent forming the landscape of Country in Aboriginal stories

???????? animals and plants that have consciousness and unique identities and which each play a specific role within the story, such as in Ojibway / Anishinabe stories of the creation of Turtle Island

???????? the creation of order from chaos, making land and islands from a previous flooded state, the common theme of a Great Flood across the world

???????? wisdom and instruction regarding how humans should behave in a kinship relation to all of life, land, water, sky

To revive a role for creation stories for today, perhaps we can go back to their ancient narrative structures to playfully, yet respectfully re-learn their power and integrate them into our own stories. Weaving them with more contemporary ways of knowing as a way of re-telling old stories, and, importantly, imagining ourselves into their sequels...

For example, I find Leonard Eisenberg’s Evogeneao Tree of Life helps us to see Life’s expansion in waves of growth and collapse – and tells a story that helps us recognise that as the latest arrivals to this family tree, we are blessed to be related to all living things, and that we embody them. ?Our bodies function in large part thanks to the bacteria in our gut and skin biomes and that we have inherited their wisdom. Our digestive system is a more complex version of early tubiform life from the oceans. As embryo’s we even have gill-like structures called pharyngeal arches, which whilst never used for breathing can be seen as a fish-like relic. We have so-called reptilian parts of our brains, responsible for autonomic and survival functions, and a mammalian brain that amongst many other functions supports social functioning, empathy and emotional regulation. Within our cells lies the whole story of Life. What if we didn’t merely think of these as evolutionary stages, through a purely scientific lens, but also as the opportunity to listen to deeply embodied creation stories (which are mostly co-creation stories when we examine them!) that whisper to us from so many different traditions. Might these stories play a role also in supporting regenerative practice and teach us important lessons about how we use the richness we have inherited to serve rather than to control?

For the last few years I’ve been reflecting and exploring with colleagues from time to time, and noticing that whilst the Regenerative movement draws so much learning and sustenance from Indigenous cultures and practices, yet there is sense of awkwardness when it comes to ideas of creation, even when those very Indigenous groups are at ease in talking about Creator, in an open, natural way. ?

I don’t think that this is just based on a fear of wrongful cultural appropriation, although it’s important to be mindful of appropriate boundaries. Protocols for Non-Indigenous People Working with Indigenous Knowledge is a resource co-created in 2024 by Indigenous scholars from Canadian and Australian universities that sets out important guidelines, including the advice that “When you speak and think in our ways, it must be about them, or from them, not for them. You don’t claim these things for yourselves”. As a Briton, I can learn from and speak about others' creation stories, but not as though it was my story, although it may enrich my own appreciation of origins.

It's important to remember that creation stories are also present within ancient indigenous European cultures as well, as they are across all continents. I am enjoying recent conversations about supporting the rights of rivers, where the river goddess Trisentona , 'the thrice beloved', spirit of the Trent river, is being rediscovered at a critical juncture within the life of Britain’s rivers, under huge spiritual and toxic attack.

I think that what is actually feared by some, is the association with formal religion and especially ‘creationism’, a belief system based on set of shaky modernist logics that seeks to set itself up against what it perceives as the hegemony of evolutionary theory, and sets up a false and unnecessary dichotomy. In 'The Language of Creation' biblical symbolist Matthieu Pageau sets out a helpful frame of reference at the start of the book – to understand cosmology from a spiritual perspective, he reasons, we need to ask questions such as ‘What does it mean? What truth does it embody?’. These are the questions that different creation stories are helping us to explore. Whilst from a material perspective (which is where creationists get entangled), the questions are ‘How does it work? What material is it made of?’, which are not directly relevant to these stories.

What might emerge I wonder, if we leaned more into the 'What does this mean? What truth does it embody?' as we explore a more holistic understanding of Nature? How might this enable greater sharing and weaving across our different stories, and greater ease with the spiritual dimensions that are implied in our work?

I personally felt a deep sense of calling back into a form of creation-oriented knowing and relating this summer. It might sound strange for those who know me – having been brought up in a Christian context and from there integrating different spiritual and cultural expressions, especially from Ainu and Shinto understandings of Nature as being imbued with consciousness, these ways of knowing and being sit comfortably with me. And yet, as we all discover, there are deeper levels of knowing that unfold through life.

Part of that unfolding occurred through a solo camping experience with a small group in the Carpathian mountains, hosted so lovingly and respectfully by Din van Helden and Walter Bertolini I highly recommend their work .

Finding a space in the terrain that seemed to speak to us personally, we pitched our tents in different spots, where for the next six days, we each fasted and meditated within a small perimeter from our own camp. The mountains were full of wildlife, and learning to attune inwardly while listening and paying attention outwardly was a daily practice. It was early into the solo experience that I felt rather than heard a presence, and as I slowly stood up and looked around the side of the spruce tree where I was meditating, resting in the shade just a few metres away was a small herd of European bison.

I can distinctly remember feelings of rapid attunement in myself while they gradually became aware of my presence and we made eye contact. It was as if time stood still, even thought it was only a fleeting moment.

I was aware of being in their space - a deer track ran near my tent, and clearly they used it too. And yet, in spite the risk if they suddenly startled and ran towards me, I felt instinctively to bring my hand up and speak to them as one kind to another. I quietly asked them that they might move along in peace, and then offered a blessing for their Kind, and soon after they slowly moved on up the hill, disappearing into the long grass.

After they moved on, the sense of a mutual blessing stayed with me, as well as a growing awareness of the medicine that this encounter was bringing me. I noticed a profound feeling of gratitude to have witnessed them so close, as according to one of the guides connected to Carpathia, we would be lucky to see them only from a distance.

We passed close by each other on the next three days, with a growing sense of ease in each others’ presence. Tuning into our shared deep past, I sensed how their kind would have enabled my ancient ancestors to survive, and now it was my kind’s turn to ensure their ongoing survival and flourishing. That we are not just expressions of Nature together, but woven into each other’s stories and futures.

It was when walking along the woodland track to fetch some more water from the stream and seeing their tracks near to their drinking spot, that I really experienced a shift.

I had been becoming increasingly conscious of the ‘technological shell’ that surrounded me, from the foreign sounding rustling of my jacket to the paraphernalia of my camping equipment, even though I had brought very little, acting as a constant reminder of the many ways I felt separated. The camping equipment simultaneously represented all the economic and industrial machinery that has gone into its production, the extractive processes involved in the largely oil-based materials and the fact that unlike everything else around me on the mountain, this would not simply die back slowly into the soil at the end of its usefulness.

What kind of Nature am I being when no other expression of nature behaves like this? How can I be honest with myself about this deep yearning that stems, in actuality, from a feeling of separation? Yet allowing myself to deeply feel a sense of kinship that comes from the acknowledgement and respect for difference, that is the message of all the creation stories, had the power to awaken a completely new level of relatedness in me almost instantly. I felt as though this constant tension which I observe in so many regenerative spaces to remind ourselves that 'we are Nature as well' (even as we talk about finding time to be in Nature or going off to spend time in Nature) seemed to dissolve when I experienced myself and the bison as being part of creation together. Maybe these are just linguistic nuances, but the sense of relief was palpable for me.

This new gift of awareness was highlighted to me in a somewhat humorous way on my final evening. I hadn’t long gone to bed at sundown when I heard the heavy pad-shuffle, pad-shuffle of a bear approaching my tent. I hadn’t seen any bear the whole time, although they were numerous in the area, but I had heard them – one afternoon the valley below was filled with the intermittent sound of heavy thuds every few minutes. I guessed it to have been a bear turning over large rocks to feast on the insects beneath, which along with blueberries and raspberries that covered the hillsides is their main diet over the summer months.

Feeling my body tense up in readiness, I listened carefully as the bear sniffed noisily around the perimeter of my tarp tent, and I could hear a soft ‘shhhh shhhh’ as it carefully stroked the fabric in curiosity. I then became aware of a strange patting sound and gradually realised that it was playing with my water carrier that I had left in a shady spot behind the tree. This went on for quite some time, and I can only imagine how fascinating it must have been for the bear to play with – the strange plastic odour, the squashy feel and sound of water sloshing about inside. The message to me that somehow even my human weirdness and differences can be interesting to my kin.

Preparing to leave camp the next morning, I took some time to sit in gratitude for these meetings with the bison and bear, and the wisdom that each encounter brought. The diverse expressions of consciousness that I had witnessed through so many spectacular varieties of beetles, the gentle beauty of the glow worm at dusk, the hawks and ravens suspended against the blue sky, and the small birds that fluttered around the sticky branches of the spruce tree each morning catching insects, the proud stag that announced its presence through loud barks throughout the night, the hum of the bees and especially the beautiful queen bee that landed on the page of my book – the wisdom and courage she embodied in finding a new home for her hive.

It was joyful to end the solo time by praying a blessing for each of their kind, for the health and flourishing of their future generations, for the gratitude to be part of their family also, and part of a shared story.

Thank you for reading - this was a bit of a long one! Please share your comments, I'd love to know what you think.

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