Oathology: Bring Us Back to Nature, Rooting into Connection
It seems we’ve passed the eleventh hour quite some time ago, as Thomas Banyacya Sr., Elder of the Hopi Nation referenced in We are the Ones We’ve Been Waiting For, a prophecy and call to urgent awareness, action, and unity.
Doubling down, this prophecy rejects isolation and emphasizes that true strength comes from collective wisdom, sacred action, and recognizing that we are the ones responsible for shaping the future.
Before we can meet these challenges head on, we must consider how we got here, what our role has been thus far, and uncover our unique attributes, skills, and abilities to create sustainable interdependence with people and the planet. In doing this work, we make it possible to re-invest and unify with the greater good–beyond capital and status-based worth.
Humans have always needed a little extra time to simmer and grow, unlike a deer fawn, we cannot simply birth the idea and run with it, we need to invest energy into ourselves and become clear on our values and basic needs before we can sustain any amount of sizable change. Of course, this is an ever-changing process. Growth is seldomly linear, as my partner says “always forward, never straight”.
So, what is the goal here? To rekindle our kinship with both human and non-human residents of this pale blue dot. When it comes to re-connecting with the natural world, we must first welcome that re-connection within ourselves, to ourselves.
This piece marks the beginning of the Oathology series, a year-long journey exploring intentional, informed, and accessible practices of stewardship. Each installment will cultivate joy and a sense of personal power and purpose—enriching life, relationships, and our ability to tend to the world around us.
We begin this trek by inviting you to reflect on your place in nature.
Finding your way back
Nature isn’t a far away place, nestled in a bog or dewy meadow. It’s in you, in me, and in the spaces we move through every day. It’s the bird nesting outside your window, the milkweed plant on the sidewalk spilling seeds into a gust of wind, the way morning light pools on your kitchen floor. It’s not something you have to chase into the wilderness; it’s something you can recognize within any moment of life.
When we stop looking for nature as a destination and start seeing it as an extension of ourselves, a deeper connection starts to form. The branching veins in your hand mirror the intricate patterns of a leaf’s margin. Hair bends and moves like swamp grass in the everglades. The expansive stretch of the lungs mirrors a tree’s canopy in the forest, feeding oxygen into the air. Even the copper and iron found in the device you are using to read this are all derived from the earth, and participating in the many cycles of life and entropy.
Experiencing nature is a very personal thing. In the same way that your best-friend is your best friend whether or not they are famous, the most awe-inspiring connection to nature doesn’t have to be at a national park or an inhospitable mountain peak. Many of the most intimate moments with nature happen in unexpected and ordinary places, requiring nothing more than presence, and a little curiosity.
In seeing nature in ourselves and in the smallest details around us, we open the door to a more intuitive, more grounded way of being in the world.
How did we stray so far off the path?
Along the way, we started seeing nature as something separate from ourselves. The very word nature has been commodified again and again. We see it plastered onto store shelves, beauty products, and foods as something to be consumed rather than experienced in its full context.
This linguistic divide mirrors the larger systems in place that separate us from the foods we eat, the water we drink, and the materials that shape our lives. It is all too easy to lose contact with the very strings that tie us to all of our biological needs, in a system that benefits from this type of disconnection. Furthermore, proximity to nature is often tied to privilege in modern life, whether for sport and recreation, or career. Even our ability to access clean water, fresh air, and green spaces is not equally distributed, yet it is a fundamental human need. Reconnecting with the natural world is not just a personal endeavor; it is a collective responsibility.
We see words used like gourmet to signify a rare and luxurious ingredient, while ultimately alienating accessibility, often exploiting both the living source of the ingredient and the very folks that tend to the land these foods were harvested from. When reclaiming our power and how we relate to nature, one way to begin this is through language. Opting for words like delicacy, to better portray the rarity of a special ingredient.
When we reframe how we speak about living beings and earth materials, we are reinvesting in a more interconnected relationship, allowing for deeper knowing and understanding.
We have an opportunity to challenge the philosophies that encourage isolation, scarcity, and helplessness, and the very best place to start is gazing through our personal experience.
Connecting to inner and outer wilds
There are a multitude of ways to connect with both your inner and outer world. Tapping into your physical senses happens to be one of the easier ways to do this, no matter if you’re in your home, at a park, or one of your favorite outdoor destinations. You don’t have to be in the thick of the back country to feel this connection.
Reconnecting with the world around us starts with the senses: sight, smell, sound, touch, and taste. When you have a moment, quietly listen, look, and reflect on the senses that make you feel the strongest connections. Begin in a seated position, optionally with eyes closed, and take 2-3 slow, full breaths. Then, move through each sense at your own pace.
Sight: Observe the colors of the seasons, the shifting light, the movement of animals and plants in response to time and weather.
Smell: Breathe in the scent of soil after the rain, the salt of the ocean, the crispness of a pine forest, the heat in the desert air, the zesty aroma of a tomato vine.
Sound: Listen to the calls of birds, the rustling of leaves, the hum of insects; each a language of its own. What are they saying?
Touch: Feel the textures of tree bark, water, stone, the coolness of earth beneath bare feet, sunlight on your skin.
Taste: Savor the local flavors of seasonal foods, the sweetness of a homegrown berry, the spice or bitterness of wild herbs.
By engaging our senses, we move from being passive observers to active participants in the landscapes we inhabit. In a moment of disconnect, these may even be useful exercises to help regulate your nervous system. This practice exercises our basal connection to the earth.
A study of self, wildly-occurring
Once we have explored the patterns in how we experience our environment, and what aspects of our own nature we are drawn to, we can move into the next phase: defining our unique role.
Realizing interconnection goes a step further once we add some key language to better define ourselves and our relationship to the natural world. Just like we touched on a moment ago, intentional vocabulary is integral to deeper connection. But we can expand this into how we relate, our scale of perception, and our capacity for practicing reciprocity.
Ethnoecology is the study of how different cultures interact with their environment, shaping and being shaped by it in return. When viewed through a personal lens, it asks: How do I interact with my surroundings? What do I take? What do I give back?
When viewed collectively, it asks: How can our communities build deeper relationships with the land? How do we move toward connection and abundance?
Understanding our place in the web of life helps us see the bigger picture. This knowing illuminates how everything is intertwined, living and non-living alike. As we lean into the teachings of people who have long prioritized stewardship, we open pathways to reimagining abundance, access, and our cultural philosophies around nature.
Uncovering the patterns towards deeper connection
Each of us has an ecological identity; an ethnoecology of the self. To define it, we must ask:
Who are we in relation to the world around us?
What do we need, express, consume, and provide?
Where do we thrive? Who do we connect with? How do we hold community?
Nature provides a blueprint for understanding these relationships. Plants, fungi, and animals model adaptability, creativity, and symbiosis in so many vibrant, relatable ways. A seabird moves effortlessly between ocean, sky, and intertidal habitats—each space distinct yet inseparable, shaping its existence as much as it shapes them. In the same way, we navigate different social and ecological zones of our own, drawing from each to create a full expression of who we are.
By paying attention to these natural patterns, we can reimagine our own roles, expectations, and desires, expanding our definition of community beyond the human world. All while getting some clever tricks along the way.
As our capacity to show up (for self and others) is strengthened through reflection and shared wisdom, it may be a great time to channel that energy into opportunities where we can give back. Seeking out projects like your local trail club (clearing trails), or tending to a local community garden, or supporting a neighborhood clean-up are classic ways to become closer to your ecosystem. Just like nurturing a healthy friendship, this can make life feel enchanted. The more often we practice being in relationship with the earth, the easier it becomes to act from a place that considers the greater well-being. It is through the trust we build with ourselves and the planet that makes it possible to creatively face challenges and cultivate the kind of kinship that’s crafted for longevity.
Seeing nature with different eyes
What if we considered the outer wilds—the world beyond ourselves—as a member of our community? What if we recognized our non-human neighbors as integral members of that community? When we do, we shift from seeing nature as something to be managed or protected, to something we are in relationship with. Something that, in turn, cares for us.
Magic happens when we remember that we are not separate from nature. We are of it. When we root into this connection, we don’t just show up for the land, we show up for ourselves.
Nature’s calling (from inside the house)
Just as we study plants and animals to understand ecosystems, we must bring the same curiosity to our own lives–examining the networks that sustain us, the resources we consume, and the roles we play in our communities.
Are you a social butterfly, moving between conversations with ease? A lunaphile, drawn to the rhythms of the moon? A plant parent, tending to life with care? How does your identity shape your relationship with the natural world, and how does nature, in turn, shape you?
By recognizing the interconnection of all living and non-living things, we gain the ability to see the bigger picture. Like a forest adapting to changing seasons, we each have our own biodiversity—our own evolving morphology of self, community, and place.
Nature speaks many languages, and there’s much to learn.
By listening—to the land, to each other, and to ourselves—we step into a deeper, more meaningful form of connection. We are not separate from nature, and in embracing this truth, we begin to rewild not just the land, but ourselves.
