by Connie Habash | Jun 27, 2025 | Animals, Presence, Wisdom
[This was written over a decade ago, as I had the privilege of spending time with a herd at a nearby ranch. The names of the horses have been changed to protect them and their owners’ identities.]
A hot June morning. The sun was already bright and warm just before 10am. The road was a bit dusty, and as I drove up the hill I looked left to see if the herd was gathered around the Big Tree at the top of the hill. No sign of them. As I crested the top, I saw a couple horses in the downtown area and was pleased that the herd was right in front to greet me.
Learning Presence Among Horses
Over the last few months, I have become acquainted with a herd of horses as part of a program in Equine-Assisted Learning. Working with a guide and therapist, I have the privilege of being out amongst these four-legged beings who have tremendous wisdom to offer the humans who will listen. I was more than ready to listen to them today. I was ready to learn to be more Present.
I parked my car under the shade of the trees, got out and looked over by the corral. As usual, Butterfly was the first to notice me, looking in my direction. Tom, too, looked over. I got out of the car and started to put on my boots with some anticipation and joy.
I saw a particularly small, chestnut horse I didn’t recognize. Did the herd grow? I turned around and did a quick count: 10 downtown, 2 up the hill, one around the corner, and this small horse. Yes, 14. That’s a new addition! I wondered about him.
I placed myself facing the shade tree next to the corral, as most of the other horses were facing, but back a bit, just at the edge of the shade. I meditated and waited. The new member was the first to approach! He came close, and I said hello. Some flies were bothering his eye, so I wiped off the sand in the corner and they left. He gently allowed me to tend to him.
Tom, recognizable by the large white spot on his snout, was the next to come say hello. I took notice of his much calmer, relaxed demeanor than the last time I saw him. Just a month or two new to the group, he now seems to be well-integrated into the herd. His eyes had a deep, peaceful and kind gaze. I felt close to him in that moment. As I stroked his neck, I noticed a sizable cut, probably from the barbed wire again. Fairly fresh. I made a mental note to inform his owner.
The new kid on the block came back. Tom stood at my left, the new little one at my right. We stood there together, breathing, for a while. I felt secure, flanked by two friends. Happy. They were, once again, teaching me the blessings to Presence together.
So much love I have for these beings. This herd is particularly well-bonded and stable. They seem to have a no-nonsense approach to their organization, tolerating no bullying and insisting on kindly respect. Everyone gets along as long as they follow these simple rules. There’s no expectations of anyone. They can participate or not as they please, as long as they abide by the simple guidelines. These are the rules of being in a herd.
They don’t take things personally. When one horse is not interested in connecting with another and gives them a shove with their hindquarters, the other horse gets the message and steps away, no questions asked.
We all have a right to our boundaries and to choose who we want to interact with. Humans tend to make this very personal when we’re pushed away, we feel hurt, angry, or question what we did. In the horse world, they simply accept. That’s embracing the moment as it is. How much simpler and more peaceful my life would be if I just accepted what came, returned to being Present, and moved on, no residual left to disturb me.
Where was Winter? He is usually a little off from the herd, but I didn’t see him anywhere. Then, I noticed him walk over to the water to drink, after which he turned back around the corner into the small shelter structure. He seemed to prefer to be by himself in his own private shade than to share the shade with the herd under the great tree. I ambled over to say hello, his white fur gleaming even under the eaves.
Something was a bit different about him today. Usually, he’s pretty easy going, and in his own world. Today, his eyebrows (although they don’t really seem to have any like we do) were lifted up, causing a wrinkling just above his eyes. On a human, I’d call it a worried look. Was he upset or stressed out about something? Was he hurting?
I looked him over but didn’t see anything obvious, and I’m certainly not a horse expert. But the tension in my body told me he wasn’t feeling at ease, although it appeared to have nothing to do with me. Could it be because of his white fur and pale skin that he was particularly uncomfortable on these very bright, hot days? I’m not sure. I gave him my love and back his space. I returned again to practicing being Present, here and now.
Ambling back to the shade under the great tree, I stood once again with the herd. I wanted to connect with Butterfly, a sensitive and aware white/gray Arabian. I felt there was wisdom in her that I needed. But she is very particular. I waited patiently, standing, grounding, meditating. At last, she walked up and smelled my hand in greeting, then moved off to the water trough.
Later, as she walked up the hill to graze, I joined her and started talking about my loneliness, how I longed for spiritual community and to find my herd that I feel I belong to. She let me touch her neck, gently stroking her soft fur. She listened for a while, then turned abruptly and walked away to check out a different area. Yes, life would be easier if I accepted what is and moved on – back into being Present. She certainly does.
A rider brought her horse over to the fence, and the new member of the herd trots over to say hello. The horses know each other by their familiar nuzzling. I waved hello and walked over, introducing myself. The owner was warm and friendly, and introduced the small, new member as Ruffian. He’s just so cute! She invited me to pet him and gave permission for me to interact when I’m visiting. I was glad to have a new friend in the herd. I watched as he showed his affection for his adopted sister, a Shire/Thoroughbred who was quite a bit bigger, but clearly shared his sentiments. I patted Ruffian on the back and said farewell, walking back to the herd.
Listening to the Lessons of the Land
As I had not been to visit for some time, I wanted to walk out into the hills and see what has changed from the wet early spring to this now very hot early summer. Grass turned brown, but the mustard flowers were still in bloom, bees buzzing around them. Two new varieties of thistle had grown and showed a couple violet blossoms. As I walked along the fence that divided the herd’s pasture from the farm next door, several ground squirrels scurried about, scuttling from one hole to the next, or hiding in foliage or underneath rotting logs. Wandering the land always brings me more into the moment.
I wanted to see if the rabbits were still in bunny valley, my name for a space between hills that is usually full of them. As I hiked up the mild incline, much to my surprise hundreds of tiny grasshoppers leaped to the sides out of my way with every step that I took. It was quite a sight and took me by surprise at first.
Down a small ravine and up the other side, I emerged in bunny valley. No rabbits yet, but taller thistles dominated the landscape. Crickets chirped in amongst the blackberry vines and small reeds grew in the last remaining damp place on the property. As I made note of some poison oak among the bushes, a sudden moment caught my attention, and then on the opposite hill I saw a young buck leap out of the bushes and race up the slope. What a beautiful sight!
Further up into the valley, I walked over toward where the swampy area was just a few weeks ago, now dry and hard. Just up the hill from that I saw them: three rabbits, long ears perked up, leaped across the dry grasses, stopping to listen on their hind legs, then running off into more shrubs. My wish fulfilled!
Returning with Reverence
Time to head back to the herd and make my departure. What a lovely visit, always full of gifts from nature and lessons to be absorbed. Always reminding me that in this moment is where my peace, aliveness, and joy reside. These beings were my teachers, indeed.
I bowed in Namaste to say goodbye, feeling the love in my heart for these large and gentle beings, and for all the life that floods my senses when I visit this beautiful pasture. The horses, as well as the rabbits, the fleeting buck, a hawk perched on a fence post, all remind me to be Present. Every moment matters, every moment has something to offer me.
The horses in particular are continually waking me up. I hear them saying: pay attention and set boundaries. Don’t let us run you over like a toddler on the loose. Look how we do it, with a pertinent and clear shove from the rear quarters to let someone know they are too close or friendly. Don’t take it personally. We’re just asserting our needs, and you can, too. Then, let it go. We don’t allow the past to interfere with a fresh new moment. True intimacy, the herd seems to say, comes from being with each other as we are, not as we were last week or last year.
Turning to walk away, I carry their lessons with me. Now, in this next moment as I fasten my seat belt and start the car, is where my attention needs to be and where the next gift offers itself, if I’m Present and aware.
by Connie Habash | Oct 6, 2021 | Animals, Boundaries, Ecotherapy, insight, Nature, Wisdom
Ecotherapy is a sacred, magical, and very fun way to work with clients. Consistently, I find that nature brings exactly what is needed – even over the phone! Here’s a snippet of a powerful ecotherapy session full of synchronicity, messages, and inspiration.
[note: the identifying information in this post has been changed to protect privacy, and I have received permission – for which I am grateful – to share this special experience with you!]
Our session began as it always does; over the phone, with some deep breaths and coming into the present moment. But also as can happen from time to time, the phone connection was poor and dropping off. I suggested that my client move to better reception – so she stepped outdoors.
Rebecca was fortunate to live close to nature – in Marin County, with redwoods abound. As she moved outside, I could hear the sounds of nature around her over the phone.
A Message About Boundaries
She expressed a desire to be free. It had been challenging lately to set boundaries with others who constantly stepped over their limits. In that moment, I heard the sound of a hawk calling out. Whenever something from nature shows up in a session – whether it is a creature, a sound, or a weather pattern – I consider it to be synchronicity. It is a sacred message from the Universe that can shift our perspective and provide powerful guidance.
I asked if there was a hawk nearby, and she laughed. “No, that’s a jay!” California scrub jays, and jays in general, are known to be able to imitate other birds, especially hawks. Jays are also known to squawk a lot, appearing to complain bitterly about other jays or competing birds in the vicinity. So, we had a false hawk; an imposter posing as a hawk in our midst. I asked Rebecca what that might be reflecting in her life related to the boundary issue.
Pausing in consideration, an “a-ha” moment emerged. Rebecca recognized that she gets mocked for standing up for her boundaries – perhaps because she comes across as “squawking” when she’s trying to set them! It was like the jay pretending to be the hawk; true power wasn’t there to back up the words coming from the jay.
In contrast to the jay, the real Red-Tailed Hawk holds a different energy, and was a bird that Rebecca had a special affinity for. If she was more like the real Red-Tailed Hawk, who is fully empowered, stands tall and firm on the perch, has sharp eyes and talons, and doesn’t need to say a word to have the deference of all the other creatures in the forest, they would probably respect her boundaries.
Don’t Settle – Be the Real Hawk!
The message for her was: “Don’t settle for being a jay – be the hawk!”
We then moved into a visualization to become the hawk, embodying the qualities of respect, power, keen awareness, and hawk-eyed clarity. It was important to feel it in her body, to embody the energy and qualities of the hawk. As she completed this visualization, feeling the hawk’s prowess and strength within her, she had another realization: that it’s easier to have an open heart when you have power. By stepping into and embodying the power that the real hawk represented, she could both set boundaries and more deeply connect, heart to heart, to those she loved.
As we completed our phone session – but fully informed by ecotherapy – a final visitor came to call. The Acorn Woodpecker, who has a call that sounds a lot like a cackle. What was the woodpecker adding to the story, I asked? She mused: when they try to get to you, laugh it off! That’s empowering!
The Magic of Ecotherapy
This is the magic of ecotherapy. Nature knows what we need. Everything in the natural world has meaning and symbolism that takes personal and spiritual growth to a deeper level. Even over the phone, when we open ourselves to nature, a whole world of wisdom, guidance, and insights show up with gifts of healing and transformation.
Is Ecotherapy calling you? Find out more on my Ecotherapy page, or join my email list for more inspiration and to find out about upcoming nature-based events.
by Connie Habash | Jul 31, 2018 | Animals, Gentleness, Openness, Patience, Persistence, Presence
On a pilgrimage to Mount Shasta, butterflies became my spiritual teachers.
One of my favorite places in the world is Mount Shasta, and of all the sacred and beautiful locales around this mountain, I love a particular meadow about half-way up the slope. The source of its beauty – that nourishes the abundant life there – is a pristine spring.
This is where I like to sit when I visit, right next to the spring. Not only am I able to hear its sweet trickling sound and dip my feet in the freshly-melted-from-the-glacier water, but I’m able to look over the many wildflowers blooming around the tiny stream. And along with the flowers come the butterflies.
I’ve only been to a couple places that had more butterflies (I have seen Monarchs on their migration). There’s a lovely variety of them, too – orange and brown, white, periwinkle. They tend to linger nearby on the warm step stones, not just on the flowers. And this is when I get excited, because I love to coax them onto my fingers.
Butterfly Encounters
I don’t know if I just get lucky or I have a gift at this, but on my last visit to the area I had a special encounter with a small periwinkle butterfly (actually, several who seemed to herd together, for lack of a better word). I delighted in the thought that I could connect with this gentle and beautiful insect again.
Two of these petite periwinkle butterflies came to light on the stepping stone near me. I was determined to invite one onto my hand. It couldn’t be forced, though. I had to let go of my expectations – and demands – and simply encourage it to step aboard.
The 5 Lessons
The first thing that it taught me was, of course, patience. It wasn’t keen on my finger nudging it at first. I had to move very slowly with my hand, eventually putting it right next to its foot. Then wait. And gently nudge it again. And wait. If I forced the issue, it flitted away.
Which led to the second lesson – persistence. I could have just given up after the first few tries. But I knew this was possible. And so I was determined to persist, to keep trying, and slowly let it know that I was safe and wouldn’t hurt it by just placing my finger nearby.
But if I lost my focus and turned my attention somewhere else, the butterfly would hop away or fly off. So it wasn’t just being persistent and patient. I learned to stay present. All my attention and energy needed to be right there with the butterfly, my finger, the warm stone, this moment. I worked to clear my mind, emptying the unnecessary thoughts and just being, without attachment, with this delicate and wondrous being.
My presence, in order to build trust with the butterfly, also needed to be gentle. I noticed that sometimes my intent was so strong that it was a little heavy-handed. Too much intensity and the butterfly didn’t want to participate. So I learned soft, gentle presence. From the place of gentleness, my presence was more like a cotton ball, gently there, placed next to the periwinkle butterfly, with a kind invitation.
After several minutes of being there, nudging the little creature with my finger, and sending out a gentle invitation, success. The sweet little being crawled onto my finger and remained there while I stood up and showed my husband and daughter. I few people came to visit the spring and were greeted by the butterfly on my hand and the big smile on my face. I felt so blessed and full of joy to make this connection.
As I meditated on this, I realize that the butterfly had one more message, one more quality to add to the list. It let me know that it was essential to remain open-hearted. My love for the being, as well as my openness to receive its gifts, messages, and wisdom, were part of allowing the experience to happen. I don’t know if being open-hearted actually convinced the butterfly to join me, but I do know that by being open-hearted, I received a lot of joy and insight from the presence of the lavender-winged friend on my finger.
Teaching Me About Deep Connection
So I give thanks to this sweet little butterfly (and the other butterflies that I had similar encounters with on this special trip). I realized that these 5 teachings were essential for meaningful, heartfelt relationships of any sort (human or not). And they are essential qualities to open us to a relationship with the Divine, too.
Patience
Persistence
Presence
Gentleness
Open-Heartedness
With these 5 qualities, new doors of deep connection and transformation can open for you, too.
Have you had a special encounter with a wild creature? Comment here and share what you learned!
by Connie Habash | Mar 15, 2018 | Animals, Beauty, Hiking, journey, Joy, Life, Nature, Openness, Seasons, Trust
A couple weeks ago, I had planned to hike on a Thursday morning with a friend I hadn’t seen in months. We were looking forward to being together and venturing into one of my favorite forests at nearby Huddart Park. The forecast was for rain – not just a little drizzle. Did we want to venture beyond our comfort zone, even if it was pouring?
I was game, and so was she – what an adventure! Going outdoors brings me great joy, but there’s always an element of being uncomfortable. Will I get muddy? Will my new rain pants truly hold up? What if I slip and fall? How about the cold? Being in nature mirrors to us the fact that life is unpredictable and uncomfortable sometimes.
We met up and drove together through the windy road to the park entrance, then on to the grassy field near the trailhead. On with the jackets, hiking books, and mittens (yep, it was chilly!), and off we went into the redwood forest.
It’s hard to describe the sensations of joy I feel in the forest. It’s a physical sensation of heightened senses, elation, and ease all at once. The rain only served to intensify it, especially the feeling of ease. The soft patter of drops falling from branches and contacting redwood sorrel and other greenery below the canopy contrasted with the deep silence behind it. Peace spread through the woods, enveloping me in a gentle embrace that quieted my mind.
Oh, the smells! The rich, wet earth, blended with moist wood and decomposing bay laurel leaves intoxicates me. I instinctively inhale deeply, as if trying to taste the rich scent by drawing in more of the wonderful scents of the forest. It feels so fresh and clean, and deeply alive. I, too, feel deeply alive as we journey further down the trail.
Our hope was to spy a bunch of banana slugs – one of my favorite creatures to spy here in our local ecosystem – but much to our surprise, they were nowhere to be found, even in this very wet weather. But guess what was out in droves in their place: newts! We counted 5 California newts at various times on our adventure. They waddled across the leafy compost the way a toddler ambles across the living room floor, but on 4 legs instead of two. It was fun to catch a well-concealed newt in the act amongst the camouflage, like picking out Waldo from an eye-boggling scene.
And the earthworms! 10, 20, more… I lost count over our 2 hour jaunt. We took care to avoid stepping on them, sometimes 4-5 littered across the trail like long strings of confetti. I imagined they came out for a party from their underground cover, enjoying the newfound freedom in the rain’s shower.
At the bottom of the hill I was greeted by the creek, which was delightfully full, rushing over river stones large and small, tan oak branches, past fallen Douglas firs, and downward to join many spontaneous rivulets racing to merge in union. After crossing the stream, we chose a trail I had not ventured onto before to follow up the other slope.
It was rare that I saw birds in this forest – usually I only heard whispers of them high above us, atop the redwoods. But today we were treated with a dark-eyed junco couple directly ahead of us on the path. We stopped to watch in silence; and to await how close they would approach us. One hopped towards us, then paused to peck at the group; the second would then take a few cautious hops in our direction. Chit-chit, chit-chit they called to each other, contrasting with the soft sound of the rain. They came within 9 feet or so, then worked their way back in the other direction, eventually off into the brush.
Two hours passes in timelessness. We had put our cells on airplane mode, happily walking without distraction, without checking watches or thinking about “the world”. This was the world. This was alive, abundant, vibrant. Full of surprises and delights. Pausing for occasional downpours so that we could watch, hear, feel, and smell the gift of the rain. We didn’t need more than what nature offered us with every step, around every corner.
Kindly, my friend had packed some lunch for us, and we found a decent picnic table to sit down and eat, enjoying conversation and the drops that landed on our hoods and in our salads. Fresh food never tasted so good out on the land. I appreciated every fruit and vegetable, marveling at what nature provides.
My clothes? The rain pants were fantastic; my legs were cool but not wet. Water dripped off my rainjacket harmlessly onto the ground. My hiking boots held up fine. Just my fingerless mittens were soaked, easily rectified in the dryer back at home.
As we drove away and back into “civilization”, I was filled with gratitude. Nature fills me in ways that nothing else can. I feel Spirit alive in every rock, tree, and raindrop. I recognize that my needs are truly simple. What more do we truly need than this precious beauty, this flowing water, this bushy-tailed squirrel that eyes me as she eats seeds from a cone? The more present we are in nature, the more the mind becomes serene and we experience the Oneness with life that truly fulfills us.
Returning home, the aliveness of the forest was alive in me. I stood in the driveway and turned my face up to the clouds, feeling the drops on my cheeks and forehead. I am a leaf catching the rain, and nothing feels more grand. I was OK being a little wet, a little cold, and stepping into the unknown. Going past my comfort zone opened me to new joys that I hadn’t experienced before.
Feeling the call to immerse in the beauty of nature? Join me at my upcoming Women’s Spring One-Day Retreat or this fall for Mindful Hiking (coming this October)!
by Connie Habash | Jun 12, 2017 | Aliveness, Animals, Appreciation, Beauty, Being, Comparison, Nature, Presence
Every morning, shortly after I wake, I do my “sit-spot” practice outside in our front yard. This is a practice of simply sitting and being present with everything in nature. It’s a beautiful way to begin my day with the freshness of the morning air, the sun beginning to peek through the leaves, the squirrels racing up and down the oak trees, and most of all, the birdsong.
I relish hearing the variety of birds in our neighborhood. On those beautiful, bright, sunny mornings it is pure delight to sit by our grassy patch and hear a bird calling from the tall redwood tree 5 houses down to the right, and to hear the high-pitched clicking sound of a hummingbird as it zooms in for a drink from our Mexican sage.
This morning, however, was quite different than the others for the last couple of months. It was dense with cloud-cover, and rain was expected. For California in June, this is rare. With ordinary eyes, one might wake up, see the dismal looking skies, and decide to just pull the covers over the head and go back to sleep. A dreary, cloudy day.
Not so for the birds. Like every other morning I’ve spent in sit-spot on my lawn, the birds were singing their song. They were out there – the chickadees, the spotted towhees, the wrens, the juncos, and the hummingbirds – chirping away. Every day they sing their song, sharing it with the world, declaring their right to be here and the beauty of having another sun rise (even if obscured by the clouds).
Funny how we humans don’t always appreciate our days like the birds do. We look at the external appearance, like the weather, and decide if this day is worth it or not. We allow external conditions – the weather, our bank account, or our relationship status – to determine the value we give to our life, here in this moment.
Your value, and the beauty of life, isn’t based on these temporary, external things. You inherently have value, just for Being. Your life is a miracle, each and every moment, just because It Is. Truly – the fact that any of us are alive, that we are part of this cycle of life on this rare and extraordinary planet that supports and sustains a vast array of beings, from microscopic to majestic, is miraculous. Think about it. You are part of that living miracle, and this moment in time is just as precious as any other – when you are truly Present with it.
The birds aren’t thinking about how big their nest is, or whether they will get enough seeds today, or if they are a good enough bird to sing. They aren’t questioning their value. They aren’t thinking about whether they are better or worse than other birds. They simply step out on that branch or telephone line, and sing their song. The birds are simply BEING who they are and allowing it to express into the world. No comparisons, judgments, or worries.
Singing your song is simply being and expressing your true nature. Let it out; open your voice and let the sound of your soul move through you. It doesn’t need to be loud or outrageous or amazing. It just needs to be you. The sound of the hawk and the sound of the junco are both needed to complete the symphony of nature. You don’t need a reason to justify it – you came here to authentically be who you are, and to be a part of All That Is. It wouldn’t be the same without you! So sing your song, today and every day, in every moment.
by Connie Habash | Jun 5, 2016 | Animals, Attachment, Awareness, Embodiment, Grounded, Nature, Paradox
Last month, I led a spiritual retreat at an idyllic farm, tucked into a secluded valley in Half Moon Bay, California. The focus of our day together was embodiment – being fully present, centered, grounded, and aware in our bodies and connected with the Earth.
In the afternoon, we immersed in a practice called Sit Spot; sitting outdoors, quiet and still, taking in whatever we experience from nature.
I sat on the edge of a field, facing some trees and the rising slope of a hill behind them. There was a gentle breeze, and my gaze lifted up to the clouds floating by. High in the sky, almost at the height of the clouds, I saw a hawk. It was slowly gliding in circles on the currents of air, as hawks often do. I couldn’t stop looking at it as it drifted higher and higher, further and further away over the distant hills until it was just a speck, and then disappeared from my view.
It struck me as an interesting contrast to the idea of embodiment – floating up higher and higher into the clouds, far above the earth, rather than deeply rooted in the soil, as we had much of the retreat. Earlier in the day, in our first Sit Spot practice, I had a very different encounter with an animal. Behind me on the edge of the field, I heard a scratching sound coming from the grass. As I slowly turned around, a gopher poked its head above ground, grabbed some grass in its teeth, and popped back into its hole. Several times, I saw the furry critter pop up, quickly grab a bite to eat – munch, munch, munch – and disappear again beneath the soil.
Many contrasts – one, gliding, slowly soaring, far above the ground, the other rapid, quick, close to the earth. The predator and the prey. The deeply grounded, close to the earth, and the elevated, expansive, above the fray. High and visionary, low and up close.
Was being embodied only about being close to the ground, feet rooted, in touch with the soil? Was soaring above it all spiritual but not embodied? I pondered these questions, but knew that it was all of that. Life, and spiritual life in particular, is a paradox. To be fully embodied – fully in this life, this thing called “my body”, this experience that is my journey – must include it all. Neither running off into lofty thoughts and deep meditation to the exclusion of the laundry and attending to my daughter’s needs, nor attached to completing my to-do list when my yoga mat calls and my soul longs for the joys of the garden.
We are both the soaring hawk and the burrowing gopher. If we cut ourselves off from either end of the spectrum – or the space in the middle – we aren’t fully awake and are missing the opportunity to embrace everything as it is, in this moment. The paradox of living and the spiritual path is to embrace the mundane and the transcendent, the earthly and the ethereal, equally essential and valuable.
I lay back on the grass and took it all in; the hawk and the gopher within me.
by Connie Habash | May 10, 2016 | Animals, Oneness
photo by trestleJeff from morguefile.com
Humans are a strange species. We are, to my knowledge, the only species that attempts to live in insolation from other species. We may collect in human groups – and we may have a few select “pets” – but by and large we don’t consider ourselves part of the ecosystem, and certainly not kin to other living beings. After all, we are human, and therefore we transcend animal instincts.
Well, maybe not so much. Or, maybe the traits that we think define us as human aren’t limited to our species. Isn’t it rather anthropocentric to believe that we’re the only beings that think, consider the future, reflect on the past, and have feelings? What if these are traits of consciousness, of any living being, and not exclusively human? What if our experience is universal between us and animals, and maybe even other forms of life, only we experience ours through particular filters of human language, perceptions, and behavior?
A Dutch primatologist, Frans de Waal, might concur with some of those questions. He recently published a book, Are We Smart Enough to Know How Smart Animals Are? that is intriguing. He shows evidence that animals do indeed exhibit many of the behaviors and emotions that we thought distinguished humans from other species.
It touches on what I have known in my inner self for a long time –we are not truly separate from the rest of our world. We actually share the same kinds of emotions and have similar longings – for connection, touch, happiness – as all life does. All life longs to feel a sense of Oneness and harmony.
Many spiritual teachings affirm that we are not limited to our individual selves, let alone to just the human species. The truth is that everything is interconnected, and there is no definitive dividing line between you and the rest of the world. You are not limited to you. There’s actually no limit to what you are.
I know it sounds like a stretch to leap from animals being like us to universal Oneness. But it’s actually an important intermediary point, to acknowledge that there is more to the rest of the world that we have been willing to perceive. We forget that we are seeing everything through a defined filter of “humanness”, and defining everything around us based on our human perspective. But that doesn’t allow us to see what a bee sees, or feel what a cat feels, or think what an octopus thinks. And because of that, we aren’t really seeing the whole of creation.
Through the willingness to step out of our human-centric mode of perception, we begin to consider new ways of understanding life. We begin to sense connectedness, rather than separation. And the more we open to sensing that inter-connectedness, the more we realize there is no end to it. We can infinitely see more and more interconnection, more and more interrelationships, more and more interdependence. Until we are lead to the same conclusions the great seers of the ages have: there is only Oneness, expressing in myriad forms.
Ecotherapy is a sacred, magical, and very fun way to work with clients. Consistently, I find that nature brings exactly what is needed – even over the phone! Here’s a snippet of a powerful ecotherapy session full of synchronicity, messages, and inspiration.
Every morning, shortly after I wake, I do my “sit-spot” practice outside in our front yard. This is a practice of simply sitting and being present with everything in nature. It’s a beautiful way to begin my day with the freshness of the morning air, the sun beginning to peek through the leaves, the squirrels racing up and down the oak trees, and most of all, the birdsong.
Last month, I led a spiritual retreat at an idyllic farm, tucked into a secluded valley in Half Moon Bay, California. The focus of our day together was embodiment – being fully present, centered, grounded, and aware in our bodies and connected with the Earth.
