Ecological Awakening: The Transformative Power of Direct Experience
Never have we had more information about the living Earth, yet never have we been more removed from direct, embodied relationship with it. Here are some thoughts on how we can right this relationship.
"“When you wake up and you see that the Earth is not just the environment, the Earth is us, you touch the nature of interbeing.”
- Thich Nhat Hanh
Have you ever felt the natural world? I mean really felt it, in the same sense of closeness or intimacy as with a loved one, that feeling of deep connection where your whole body fills with an inexplicable calming? Or the feeling of being interconnected to everything, a feeling of being truly at home? This is a natural state for humans, but many of us have forgotten that way home.
One of the greatest joys of being a father is to take my two sons into the forest to simply walk, explore and play. One of our regular practices is to remove our hiking boots in order to truly feel a sense of connection to the land – to feel the dirt, moss and rocks below our feet. I remember the first time I suggested on an autumn hike with no shoes: “Dad, it’s too chilly for that!” But I insisted – and they relented – and a magical moment ensued. My youngest son exclaimed, “Dad, I’ve never felt more alive!”
In our hyperconnected yet profoundly disconnected world, we face a peculiar paradox: never have we had more information about the living Earth, yet never have we been more removed from direct, embodied relationship with it. We consume documentaries about vanishing rainforests without touching the soil in our own neighborhoods. We track climate data meticulously while forgetting what the wind feels like on our skin. We debate environmental policies without knowing the names of the plants that grow outside our doors.
This disconnect between intellectual knowledge and embodied experience lies at the heart of our ecological crisis. Information alone, however accurate or alarming, rarely transforms our way of being in the world. For that, we need a different kind of knowing—one that emerges not from concepts but from contact, not from analysis but from presence.
Beyond Environmental Education
Environmental education typically focuses on transmitting information: facts about climate change, statistics on biodiversity loss, explanations of ecosystem services. While this cognitive understanding is necessary, it is profoundly insufficient. As educator David Orr notes, "The crisis we face is first and foremost one of mind, perception, and values; hence, it is a challenge to those institutions presuming to shape minds, perceptions, and values."
What's missing is what Bill Plotkin calls "ecological awakening"—the soul-level recognition that emerges from direct, sensory encounters with the more-than-human world. This awakening isn't about acquiring more facts, but about recovering a way of perceiving that recognizes our embeddedness within nature rather than our separation from it.
Wilderness guide Jon Young describes this shift as moving from "nature deficit disorder" to "nature connection"—a state in which our senses become attuned to the living world around us, our awareness expands beyond human concerns, and we begin to perceive ourselves as participants in a much larger, ongoing conversation.
Becoming Indigenous to Place
Indigenous cultures worldwide have maintained this relational way of knowing the Earth. As Robin Wall Kimmerer writes, "To be native to a place we must learn to speak its language." This language doesn’t only imply the spoken word – although language has a unique relationship with land. And it isn't merely metaphorical either – it's the actual sensory engagement with the specific voices, rhythms, and patterns of a place and the animate world that occupies it.
Becoming indigenous to place doesn't mean appropriating cultural practices or claiming identities that aren't ours. It means developing what naturalist Tristan Gooley calls "the lost art of reading nature's signs"—learning to notice the subtle cues that reveal the health of soil, the approaching weather, the passing of seasons, the relationships between species.
This isn't a romantic return to some imagined past but a necessary recalibration of our perceptual faculties for the present moment. The ability to read ecological patterns, to sense changes in natural systems, to recognize the signs of both degradation and regeneration—these are essential literacies for navigating the uncertain future we face.
From Perception to Protection
When we open ourselves to direct relationship with the living Earth, something profound shifts in our motivation to protect it. Environmental action no longer stems primarily from abstract principles or moral imperatives but from love for specific places, species, and relationships.
This is what conservationist Aldo Leopold recognized in his concept of the "land ethic"—that we will only protect what we love, we will only love what we know, and we will only know what we directly experience. Our willingness to defend living systems grows naturally from our capacity to perceive them as kin rather than resource.
Ecological awakening thus offers a different foundation for environmental ethics—one based not on utilitarian calculations or abstract rights, but on relationship, reciprocity, and recognition of the inherent value of all beings. This ethical stance emerges not from philosophical arguments but from direct perception of the world's aliveness.
Beyond Nature-Culture Dualism
Perhaps most importantly, ecological awakening begins to heal the fundamental split in Western consciousness between "nature" and "culture." When we perceive ourselves as embedded participants in living systems rather than separate observers, the artificial boundary between human and natural worlds begins to dissolve.
This doesn't mean erasing real differences between humans and other species. Rather, it means recognizing that our uniquely human capacities—for abstract thought, technological innovation, cultural creation—emerge from and remain part of the larger tapestry of life. Our distinctive gifts make sense only within the context of our ecological relationships.
As we develop this more integrated perception, we begin to see that many of our most pressing challenges—from climate destabilization to social fragmentation—stem from the same root: our forgetting of relationship. And we glimpse the possibility that remembering these relationships might be the key to addressing these interlinked crises.
An Invitation to Awakening
Ecological awakening isn't a one-time event but a gradual unfolding that continues throughout a lifetime. It involves both recovering ancient ways of knowing and developing new capacities appropriate to our time and circumstances. It requires both letting go of limiting stories about who we are and embracing more expansive narratives of belonging.
The invitation is simple but profound: step outside, open your senses, and allow yourself to be touched by the living world. Let the rain fall on your face. Listen to bird language. Follow the tracks of animals. Notice the phases of the moon. Taste wild foods. Learn the names of your non-human neighbors.
In doing so, you participate in the great remembering that is already underway—the remembering of our fundamental belonging to this Earth and to each other. This remembering isn't about going backward but about recovering essential wisdom for the journey ahead.
As we face the uncertainties of our time—the unraveling of systems we've taken for granted, the loss of species and places we love, the emergence of new possibilities we can barely imagine—this ecological awakening offers not escape but grounding. Not false comfort but genuine belonging. Not passive acceptance but a more effective basis for action.
In the end, ecological awakening isn't simply about "saving nature." It's about remembering who we are and have always been: Earth become conscious of itself, capable of great destruction but also of great love. Our task isn't to somehow rescue a separate "environment," but to remember our way home to relationship with the living world that has never stopped holding us, even when we forgot we were being held.
Practices to Connect with your Local Ecology
How do we foster this ecological awakening? Not through more screens, more data, or more abstractions, but through simple practices that bring us into direct relationship with the more-than-human world:
Nature Connection Practices like forest bathing, barefoot walking, and seasonal attunement help us recognize our bodies as part of nature's intelligence, not separate from it, while engaging our full sensory capacity.
Sit Spot Practice: Choose a place in nature—even a small urban patch will do—and visit it regularly, at different times of day and in different seasons. Sit quietly, using all your senses to observe what's happening around you. Over time, you'll begin to recognize patterns and relationships invisible to casual observation.
Phenology Walks: Pay attention to seasonal changes in your local landscape—when certain plants flower, when birds arrive or depart, when leaves change color. Keep a journal of these observations, developing what Rachel Carson called "a sense of wonder" at the intricate timing of natural processes.
Reciprocal Harvesting: When gathering food or materials from the wild—whether berries, mushrooms, or even inspiration—practice what Kimmerer calls the "honorable harvest." Ask permission, take only what you need, minimize harm, use everything you take, share what you've gathered, and express gratitude through reciprocal acts of care.
Council of All Beings: Originated by Joanna Macy and John Seed, this practice involves speaking from the perspective of another species or natural element. By temporarily stepping outside human identity, we expand our capacity for empathy and understanding across species boundaries.
Bioregional Mapping: Create or participate in mapping projects that document the ecological, cultural, and historical features of your bioregion. This practice develops what Gary Snyder calls "reinhabitation"—the conscious choice to become a responsible member of a place.
These practices aren't esoteric or complicated. They require no special equipment, expertise, or belief system. What they do require is something increasingly rare in our accelerated culture: attention. As Mary Oliver writes, "Attention is the beginning of devotion."
This essay is part of a series exploring foundational perspectives on navigating our current moment of ecological and social transformation.
Shawn, what an insightful article; thank you. I hope that we can explore this subject further together 🦅
Fantastic article. The only thing I would add to those practices sounds taboo, but I believe is a vital part of my own ecological awaking as it unfolds slowly throughout my life, and that practice is skinny dipping. Not in a pool, rather in a lake, river, or ocean. Some ancient cultures believed that we were safe from dangerous spirits while underwater. And those folks didn't have bathing suits.