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Relating to the Earth and Nature - Hilary Borison

The following talk was given by Hilary Borison at Insight Meditation Center in Redwood City, CA on March 12, 2024. Please visit the website www.audiodharma.org for more information.

Relating to the Earth and Nature

As I said earlier, I am a recent graduate of the Eco-Chaplaincy program, so this is a topic very dear to my heart. I've been on this long, slow evolution towards being more connected with nature, and this accelerated exponentially during the pandemic.

Before the lockdown, I knew that I was always a little anxious in the mornings. I would get up, get the kids off to school, go run errands, and have my meetings. I thought this restlessness and anxiety was just something that I needed to get out into the world to resolve—to connect with people. But then the pandemic came, and we couldn't go anywhere. We had to stay home. So, I just went outside my front door and sat on my patio.

I realized I just needed to be outside. It was amazing how my nervous system just powered down. At first, I started to meditate outside, and then it became my office. It was kind of funny; the UPS man arrived one time while my husband was sitting out in the front, and the UPS man asked, "Where is Hilary? Why are you in her office?"

Before that, I used to meditate inside, trying to let go of my egocentric worries. If only I had known how effortless it was to realize anatta¹, or not-self, just by going outside. My frail ego, buffeted by the Eight Worldly Winds² of praise and blame, gain and loss, pleasure and pain, success and failure—that all fell away as I became part of a much bigger ecosystem. Grass and trees, bushes and flowers, birds and squirrels, big blue sky, the clouds, the sun, and sometimes the rain. I was no longer a separate self but part of something much bigger and interdependent. I realized that it wasn't just up to me to go do stuff and make things happen; all of nature was working with me to help create balance and equanimity.

Deep Time and Ancestry

This new feeling of belonging began to arise in me. I realized that the elements in my body were from the earth and formed in the stars, and that my genes were just the latest incarnation of a long line of ancestors who had been through countless traumatic events including natural disasters, plagues, and wars, to say nothing of childbirth and illness without modern medicine.

The most amazing realization—and this is not only true for me, it's true for every single one of us alive on the planet right now—is that every single one of our progenitors lived long enough to birth and care for the next generation. Back through our parents, our grandparents, great-great-great-grandparents, all the way back to the first human, the first mammal on land, then in the water, all the way back to the first one-celled organism four and a half billion years ago. Every single one in our line, from that beginning to where we are now, lived through all kinds of traumatic events and wonderful events for us to be here. Just take a moment and take that in. What is the probability of that? It has to be less than one percent; it has to be something infinitesimally small. And yet, we are all here.

Hope and Wise View

There have been a lot of ups and downs in the world's history, and there's a lot of disequilibrium on the planet right now. Not only in terms of politics and wars but the climate crisis. Some people say that we're at a tipping point and there's not much time left. Some people are in total denial—"Oh, just can't go there"—and others are just shut down in fear and paralysis. Some just want to distract themselves: "I just want to try to be happy before it all burns up."

In Buddhism, we are encouraged not to tell ourselves stories. Just be with what is. But we humans do tell stories, and the story we tell matters. It's called Wise View, the first step on the Eightfold Path. With what eyes do we see? If we see through the eyes of hopelessness, we will passively let things happen without taking action. Action is the fourth step on the path. With hope, we move out of freeze into flow.

I love this definition of hope I read in a book called Rooted by Lyanda Lynn Haupt. She found this in a Benedictine library: "Hope is that virtue by which we take responsibility for the future." We are co-creators of our future, which is empowering. She says:

"The hope I'm interested in is about broad perspectives with specific possibilities, ones that invite or demand that we act. It's also not a sunny 'everything is going to get better' narrative, though it may be a counter to the 'everything is getting worse' narrative. You could call it an account of complexities and uncertainties with openings."

It's a recognition that we, in fact, do have the capability to turn things around. If we have Wise Intention (step two on the path) combined with Wise Speech, Action, Livelihood, and Effort (steps three through six), we can do this. But first, we must all learn to love this beautiful Earth. We will save what we love, what we cherish.

From "It" to "Kin"

Part of the problem, as Lyanda says in Rooted, is that "in countless ways modern culture and urban habits contrive to separate us from our indwelling earth intelligence." While we have more scientific knowledge of the universe than any people ever had, it is not the type of knowledge that leads to an intimate presence within a meaningful universe. With the rise of the modern sciences, we began to think of the universe as a collection of objects rather than a communion of subjects. We talk about the Earth in terms of "resources," not as Source—source of life, of nourishment, of beauty.

Robin Wall Kimmerer is a Native American scientist and biologist. She says that when we see a bird, butterfly, tree, or rock whose name we don't know, we call it "it." I would never point to you and call you "it"; it would steal your personhood. "It-ing" turns gifts into natural resources. It gives us permission to see the land as an inanimate object. These beings are not "it"; they are our relatives.

Instead, consider using ki for singular or kin for plural. This is Kimmerer's invitation: be more respectful of the natural world by using ki instead of "it." These are variants of the Anishinaabe word Aki, meaning "Earthly being." If you're concerned that this amounts to appropriation of Native ideas, Kimmerer says that to appropriate is to steal, whereas adoption of ki and kin reclaims the grammar of animacy and is thus a gift. Living beings—even the rocks, the soil, and the water—are infused with life.

We Are Nature

We have this tendency to separate ourselves from nature, to objectify it. We talk about "taking a walk" or "going for a hike in nature." But the truth is, we are nature. We are nature going to take a walk in nature.

How often do we do that really mindfully? When we do our walking meditation, we do that very mindfully. But how often do we take a walk without taking our phone, without chatting with someone, listening to a podcast or music, or snapping pictures all the time? I must admit I do a lot of that—we want to capture the moment. It's okay to do that a little bit, but do we ever just stop and look? Do we just see?

Many people live in urban areas, which is not a bad thing; it's not a bad idea for people to congregate together, leaving more wilderness. But new work in psychology reveals that simply the knowledge of flourishing wild—just knowing that there is wilderness—positively affects our psychology and creativity. It's this knowledge that we are called to cultivate daily.

Studies have shown that when people in hospitals can see greenery out a window, their healing accelerates. Simply the fragrance of certain trees invokes calm. If I just say "pine tree," can you have a felt sense of that? I do, and it brings some calm. Recorded nature sounds also do that for us. Even gazing at a houseplant helps. So wherever we are, even in a high-rise apartment in the city, gaze upon a houseplant, look out the window, step out onto the balcony or rooftop, and connect with the skies, the clouds, the sun, the rain, and the birds.

In a book called Church of the Wild by Victoria Loorz, she says, "We long to experience the sacred and in that longing forget to look outside our window and engage in conversation with a world that is already sacred."

Forest Bathing

Better still, take a walk outside. In Japan in the early 1980s, health practitioners started to realize the benefits of walking in nature—Shinrin-yoku³, or "Forest Bathing." Healthcare practitioners would actually prescribe people to go do Forest Bathing. In 2016, Professor Miyazaki compiled scientific studies showing that all of our psychophysiological functions are adapted to natural outdoor settings. His research showed how walks outside lower blood pressure, decrease heart rate, reduce cortisol production, improve blood sugar levels, improve immune function, and create overall physiological relaxation. Just 15 minutes a day of forest walking resulted in a 102% increase in parasympathetic calming activity.

It's like when we take a deep breath, a long slow out-breath in our meditation; it activates that parasympathetic nervous system. Let's just do that right now together. Breathing deeply in... long slow out-breath.

How do you feel? I feel instantly better. It's so easy. Being outside helps to do that for our nervous system. It's a way of letting go, of releasing dukkha⁴, or suffering.

Sit Spots and "Kith"

One of the daily practices we were encouraged to do in Eco-Chaplaincy was to find a "sit spot." Choose a special place outside where you can return to daily. For me, it's just going out and sitting on my patio in front of my house. Get to know the land that you're sitting on. Get to know the rooted green beings, the four-legged and winged beings, along with the changing light at different times of the year and the changing seasons.

Perhaps you've heard the phrase "kith and kin." We all know what "kin" is, but I wondered, what is "kith"? It actually means the land where you are.

With the exception of Native Americans, we are a nation of immigrants. Whether our ancestors chose to come here in search of new opportunities, or came against their will as slaves, we are transplants. Just like plants from another place, we are from somewhere else, and we can feel uprooted and lack a sense of belonging where we are. Finding a sit spot is a way to help us cultivate that feeling of belonging.

In Rooted, Lyanda refers to this as "return and be claimed." Not only do we come to know this place, the sit spot, but we feel a mutuality of being known to each other. She writes that Lynda Mapes, who wrote a book called Witness Tree, spent a whole year visiting a single oak tree every day. She said she has no doubt that in time, the tree recognized her presence—that they belonged to each other.

Connecting with Trees

Thich Nhat Hanh⁵ engaged in hugging a spiritual practice. He said: "When we hug, our hearts connect and we know that we are not separate beings. Breathing in, I know my dear one is in my arms alive. Breathing out, so precious to me. If you do this, the tree being hugged will be nourished and bloom like a flower."

On an Eco-Chaplaincy retreat, we were invited to connect with a tree, first asking the tree's permission. We want to be really respectful. When we feel that permission is given, perhaps we might simply gaze at the tree, we might feel its bark, we might lean against it, we might wrap our arms around it, and we might just listen for some wisdom it might have for us.

We were in a beautiful Redwood forest in the Santa Cruz mountains, with trees going straight up to the sky, 100 or 200 feet tall. I was wandering outside trying to find my tree to connect with, and one just caught my interest. I walked over and asked if it was okay to connect with her, and I felt it was a yes.

This tree was bent, curved over, going this way and that way, trying to find the light in this forest of giants. I felt such a deep kinship, a resonance with how I, too, in my life had to bend and twist and turn trying to find nourishment and reach for the light. For all the twists and turns and crookedness, how strong it stood up through the storms. I thanked her for sharing her wisdom and her strength, and I felt stronger inside of myself for connecting with this beautiful tree.

Earthing and Singing

Another practice we might engage in is called "earthing." I know this was really popular perhaps in the 70s, where you take off your shoes and put your feet on the ground. We speak of being "grounded" for stability. In terms of electricity, we need that third prong that goes into the outlet so that in case there's a surge of electricity, it goes into the ground; the ground absorbs it. When we place our bare feet on the earth, anxiety and stress can flow from us into the earth. I have done this myself and with people I know who have been emotionally dysregulated in the middle of a panic attack, and it has a very calming effect.

Thich Nhat Hanh invites us through mindful walking to feel that each footstep is kissing the earth. In Rooted, Lyanda combines both practices—hugging a tree with bare feet. She describes the experience:

"With shoes shed, we become closer to them [the trees] as our mentors. Putting not just a cheek but an ear directly upon a tree's bark allows deep listening. The rhythmic movement of the blood in our bodies, the craniosacral fluid of our spines and skulls, mirrors the movement of sap in the trees. The breeze in our rustling hair is the same as that in the leaves, the branches, the clouds."

She also reads to the trees; she likes to read Emily Dickinson in particular.

In the book The Enchanted Life by Sharon Blackie, she tells the story of restoration ecologist Suprabha Seshan from India, who sings as she walks through the jungle. She says:

"Partly because the animals sing so sweetly to me all the time, it's their generosity that I aspire to match. But singing is also my direct announcement to others in the forest: I am here, I walk alone, I come in peace. I believe that singing transmits much more than presence; it carries information about the state of my body, the state of my emotion and my intention. They can of course choose to stay or leave, but usually they are not alarmed and they know it's me, the singing woman from the hill."

When I sit in meditation, sometimes in the morning I'll do some chanting, and I've noticed sometimes the birds will get quiet as I chant. I feel somehow I'm singing to them. Then I stop, and they start singing, and I feel like they're singing to me. So we sing to each other.

Just before I came here, I was sitting outside and there was a raven connecting with another one in another tree. I tried to answer back—[Laughter]—although I'm afraid I do not know what I said. I'm hoping it wasn't anything bad because I would love to know Raven language.

There are many ways to connect with our kith and kin. In the children's program, the Dharma Sprouts, we sing a Betsy Rose song called "Breathing In, Breathing Out." The words go:

I am blooming as a flower [breathing in, we open our flowers] Fresh as the dew I am solid as the mountain [hands up over heads like a mountain] Firm as the earth [feeling the earth firm beneath us] I am water, reflecting what is real, what is true And I feel there is space deep inside of me And I am free

Equanimity and the Buddha's Path

In Buddhist terms, to be equanimous is to be centered and grounded. When we sit in meditation cross-legged, we are in the shape of a mountain—wide at the base, smaller at the top, feeling that stability. When we sit upright with our backbone straight, we are like the trunk of a tree. Our breath is like the blue sky reflection, reflecting what is, accepting without resistance, making space inside and around us, cultivating peace.

There were two very pivotal experiences of the Buddha on his journey to enlightenment. He began with remembering a time when he was six, sitting under a Rose Apple tree. He could hear the adults in the distance doing a ritual tilling of the ground. It is said that he sat in seclusion from sensual desire, feeling an utter sense of contentment and happiness that came from within himself; it wasn't dependent on something outside of himself.

And yet, I cannot help but feel that it was through the five senses that he felt his way into a deep sense of peace, into samadhi⁶. I imagine the shade of an overarching Rose Apple tree keeping him a little cooler, the warmth from the sun lulling him, the apple blossoms blooming beautifully. I can imagine looking through the branches of the tree up to the blue sky, the smell of the apple blossoms, hearing the hum of the insects and the chirping of birds, feeling the firm ground beneath his body.

Another pivotal moment was sitting under the Bodhi tree when he committed to staying there until he achieved enlightenment. Mara sends all kinds of enticements and fears—armies of demons and terrible storms. Finally, the final challenge on this path to enlightenment was self-doubt: "Who do you think you are to become enlightened?"

The Buddha did not answer with words. He simply reached down and touched the earth. The earth affirmed his worthiness, as each one of us is equally worthy to become enlightened.

The Earth Loves Us Back

Nature teaches us so many things. One of the most important is non-judgmental awareness, which is the basic definition of mindfulness. It is an unselfconscious beingness. No matter how we come into nature—whether well-dressed or bare-skinned, sad or anxious, bathed or not smelling good—we are not shamed or shunned. We are just another animal. If we are respectful, we are welcome. We are not separate.

In our connections with Mother Nature, we begin to feel this appreciation, gratitude, and love. In Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer writes:

"Knowing that you love the Earth changes you, activates you to defend and protect and celebrate. But when you feel that the Earth loves you in return, that feeling transforms the relationship from a one-way street into a sacred bond. The land loves us back. She loves us with beans and tomatoes, with roasting ears of corn and blackberries and bird songs. By a shower of gifts and a heavy rain of lessons, she provides for us and teaches us to provide for ourselves. That's what good mothers do."

In Reclaiming the Wild Soul by Mary Reynolds Thompson, she says: "If we don't reclaim and come to love our inner wildness, how much more of the Earth's wild places will we be willing to destroy?"

Let the great rewilding of our world begin with you, with me, with all of us. Whoever we are, wherever we live, no matter our ethnicity, our sex, our religion, political affiliation, or nationality, we are all children of this Earth. When we climb a mountain or fly in an airplane, we look down upon the land and there are no map lines.

If we are able to escape Earth's gravity, we will find ourselves in the blackness of outer space looking back at the Earth. Only astronauts have had this perspective. When a particular "Earthrise" picture was taken from the moon, they brought back personal accounts of how this moved them so deeply. In the words of astronaut Edgar Mitchell:

"Suddenly, from behind the rim of the Moon, in long, slow-motion moments of immense majesty, there emerges a sparkling blue and white jewel, a light, delicate sky-blue sphere laced with slowly swirling veils of white, rising gradually like a small pearl in a thick sea of black mystery. It takes more than a moment to fully realize this is Earth... home."

May we all know ourselves as one family with a deep love and appreciation for kith and kin, knowing that not only do we love the Earth, but the Earth loves us back. May we save what we love.

Reflections and Q&A

Audience Member: Jim here works for NASA, so perhaps I can help you. I'm too claustrophobic frankly to go up...

Hilary Borison: Oh, I actually have a poster of Earthrise that is signed by Edgar Mitchell. I got it for one of my kids who loves astronauts and space. There is something very special about it. I kind of put my hand on the signature; it's like, wow, this person has actually been in space looking back at Earth.

Audience Member: I think one of the things we talked about is this word "alienation." Just how disconnected we are from nature, but also from each other and the things we do. I thought of the supermarket—I'm going there later—but just how many things we take for granted. We don't know the source of the food. We partition things; we say, "This is water, this is bottled and it's here and you buy it." We create these extra things. A lot of the exercises in connecting back to nature make you realize how roundabout it is that we do all these things to repurpose it or sell it back to each other.

Hilary: You can never overthink that. I love the way we do a blessing on food. We think about the interconnectedness. When we're actually taking in nourishment, we consider how much there is that we are taking on. Thich Nhat Hanh, with his "interbeing" teachings, talks about how with every bite of food we're taking in the soil the food grew in, the sun, the clouds, the rain, the farmers, the farm workers, the truck drivers, the people at the store. Pretty soon it's like, oh my gosh, who wasn't involved with this? We're so interdependent; it's amazing.

The thing that I love too about really focusing our attention on food is this: I used to think about this Earth as being a nightmare of everything trying to eat everything else. It's like we're eating each other, and that's awful. But then I thought, no, wait a minute. It's a sacrament. It is a gifting of life to each other. When I eat the strawberry, it was a seed, it grew, it got plump and red and juicy, and then it got picked. Then I take it in, and it's a strawberry that's gifted its life to me. It becomes part of me to nourish myself. When we really stop to think about it, it's hard not to sacralize everyday life.

No Matter What

I want to finish with a poem called "No Matter What" by Kai Sidenberg, from a book called Poems of Earth and Spirit:

No matter how hard they try, they cannot keep us apart. They can pour concrete over the rich, dark earth, Put us in a plastic chair inside a sheetrock box, Hook us up to electronic devices and tell us we have to stay there all day. And still we will be breathing the breath of towering pines Growing on rugged mountain slopes And tiny green plankton floating in distant seas.

And even though the water we drink travels through many miles of pipe, Is doused with chlorine, and may be contained in plastic bottles, Still we will be drinking water that has tumbled over granite boulders, Hibernated in frozen lakes, And reflected the morning sun from a spider's web.

And even though the salad we eat may be grown hundreds of miles away, Harvested and washed by hands we will never see, And packaged in a plastic box, Still we will be eating leaves from plants whose roots embrace the fertile earth As their tender green bodies reach toward the light.

And no matter how relentlessly we have been trained to sit still, To hold our tongues, to follow the rules even when they make no sense, Still we are animals of flesh and blood, Kin to deer, bear, and whale, With deep wisdom in our bones and untamed passions in our hearts. Still there is a wild one inside us Running barefoot through the forest, Gathering sweet berries, Dancing around the fire, Singing to the moon.

I hope that we will be more mindfully, bodily connected to the Earth and to the cosmos, and that we will really love this Earth and do all we can to save the planet from more desecration. With hopefulness, we can do it. We just need to come together.