overstuffed dumpsters; alert, lively senses counter the numbness of alcohol. We need reminders that change is possible and that each discipline, each person, has a role to play.
This book provokes an essential question: How best to live on this earth? By focusing on our human bodies as the vehicle through which we experience ourselves and the world around us, we learn to value the earth equally to the self. Thus, the perspective is both anthropocentric (human-centered) and ecocentric (earth-centered). The body and the earth are complex and profoundly interconnected entities developed through billions of years of evolutionary process. Our task is to develop a dialogue with this inherent intelligence—to learn to attend. By enhancing active awareness of our bodies and the places we live, we deepen our engagement in the intricate and delightful universe we inhabit.
What Body and Earth offers, simply, is a map to guide experience. In editing the text, I’ve attempted to honor the body’s capacity for absorption. In reading, one can only integrate what is relevant to the moment of attending. As writer, I offer what I can hold in one life, shared with friends like a good conversation. So when I had to choose what to include in a chapter, I would go outside and read aloud to the plants, go to the studio and speak as I moved, or go to the mountains and tell the story about water to the stream to see if it rang true. And that is what, finally, I offer to you in this experiential guide.
Preparation for using the text
Find an indoor space suitable for private work. A wood floor and natural light is ideal; the space should be warm and comfortable. Minimize distractions: unplug the phone, turn off the computer, remove your watch. Wear loose-fitting clothing; no shoes or socks. Have pencils and a journal or pad for your notes and drawings. Establish a realistic schedule; consistency of time and place helps calm the mind for focused exploration. You will also choose an outdoor place (See Day 1); each offers unique resources.
Drawing by Claire Crowley, age two.
My stepson’s seventh-grade math class focused on grapbs. The teacher began by taking a survey of what students “were most afraid of.” The final pie chart, colored in pale red, green, and blue, showed homelessness was the major fear for 60 per cent of these rural students, followed by war and divorce. They were facing the fear that there is no place on this earth to call home. How do we acknowledge that each of us has a place; that both our body and the earth are home?
“To Do” movement explorations
Read through (and tape-record yourself if possible) the entire “to do” section first, then begin. As you become familiar with the process, it will become easier to follow the instructions. When working with a partner or in a group, have one person read aloud; then change roles. Respect your own limitations; modify any exercise that does not feel comfortable to your body. Use a yoga pad, meditation cushion, pillow, or chair for support as necessary.
Use the margins in the book to record your experience. Note what actually happens—your feelings, sensations, and associations—so that you can observe your process over time: “I was distracted” or “I felt light and relaxed.”
Creative writing
Write from your whole body. Try to keep your pen moving, as you maintain a nonjudgmental attitude. Resist editing or censoring your words. The task is to let your body write you, that is, to become a vehicle through which your own stories emerge.
Read all of your writing aloud; include every word. When you read, both hear and feel your language. Often the experience of reading is different from writing. Cultivate a supportive listener within yourself. If emotions come, allow yourself to continue reading with the feelings. We need our whole self present in our words.
When giving feedback to others in a group, comment on what stands out for you, what moves you. Maintain your nonjudgmental but discerning mind.
Underlying Patterns and Perception
Cape—rope bridge. Photograph by Bill Arnold.
Basic Concepts
We are not separate from the earth; we are as much a part of the planet as each cell in our bodies is a part of us.
—Mike Samuels, M.D., and Hal Zina Bennet, Well Body, Well Earth
We begin in wholeness. The interconnectedness of human life with the world around us is the subject of our study.
Body, in this text, refers to all aspects of what it means to be human. The parts may sometimes be referred to individually as soma, soul, spirit, psyche, physical body, emotional body, intuitive body, energy body, thinking body, mental body, or collectively as person, self, “I.” In our study, the word body is an inclusive term referring to the whole being.
Earth, in this text, refers to all aspects of our planet. The parts may sometimes be referred to individually as atmosphere, ecosphere, biosphere, hydrosphere, geosphere, mantle, crust, core, or collectively as Gaia, globe, world. In our study, the word earth is an inclusive term referring to the whole planet. Body is an aspect of earth.
Place, in this text, refers to a particular part of the earth that we know through direct experience in the body. Relationship to place is a process of assimilation, without which there can be no understanding. It is through our interaction with specific landscapes and environments that our movement patterns, perceptual habits, and attitudes have been formed. As we reflect on the places that have shaped our lives, we recognize that body affects place and place affects body in a constant process of exchange.
Where we focus our attention affects what we perceive. In this text we attend to the body as the medium through which we experience the earth. At various points in our exploration, we must put down our books, quiet our words, and simply go outside. Participation is the connecting link to awareness. As we open our senses to the natural world, we can recognize the experience at hand as the primary resource for our learning.
CONNECTIONS
When I first taught a course called “Ecology and the Body,” a colleague met me at a department meeting with a stack of books and a typewritten note. The first sentence stated that ecology has nothing to do with the body. The note ended by saying that if there was no math in my course, it was not ecology. The Environmental Studies chairperson responded to my concerns with the reminder that scientists use language to be specific, writers to encourage association. Both are useful. He also quoted Rachel Carson: “You can’t write truthfully about the sea and leave out the poetry.”
Several weeks later a student reported a sign posted in a bathroom downtown: “Don’t flush, save the Ecology.” This helped me see the need for specificity in language; it also encouraged my sense of humor. Then, at a college-wide lecture, a distinguished environmentalist began his talk by announcing that every elementary student now knows that ecology means the interrelatedness of all living and non-living things. From my perspective, the human body is included.
Some students who protest the use of chemical spray on blueberry barrens in Maine, scorn pesticides and fertilizers in the grain fields of the Midwest, denounce pouring raw sewage into streams, and bemoan the cutting of trees in the rainforest, do not hesitate to take Ritalin—“vitamin