Listening to the Voices of Earth

It’s one thing to talk about the importance of integrating the voices of the land and all Earth’s creatures into our decision-making, quite another to do it. Trees don’t talk, not in human anyway. Nor do bear, salmon, fungi, goldenseal, or bees. And they sure don’t show up in Congress or corporate board rooms. You might say, “Well, humans will just have to speak for them.” But the point is for all creatures to be heard on their own terms, in their own way. Impossible, you might say. I disagree.

In 1988, I had an experience that convinced me it absolutely is possible for the voices of “the other” to participate in human decision-making. It was at the Third North American Bioregional Congress (NABCIII) held on the banks of the Cheakamus River in British Columbia. Congresses were always magical. There was an underlying Gaian sensibility we all shared, plus most participants were active in their home communities – organic farmers, publishers, writers, artists and musicians, creators of land trusts, community currencies, intentional communities, you get the idea. And when two hundred of us got together in a beautiful place complete with a river so clean salmon thrived, not to mention several old growth cedars — well it was intense in a good way. 

The first few days of the Congress were spent attending workshops and committee meetings open to anyone interested in the issue (for example: arts and culture, education, communication, communities, ecodefense, ecofeminism, Indigenous people, forests, green cities, health, water, permaculture, spirituality, MAGIC, economics, etc.). Each committee created a vision statement and outlined strategies to get there. I was part of the economics committee. 

One of the mandates of the previous Congress, NABCII, was to “recognize four participants to represent the interests and perspective of our non-human cousins: One for our four-legged and crawling cousins, one for those who swim in the waters, one for the winged beings, the birds of air, and one very sensitive soul for all the plant people.” Others could work with them, but these four would be formally recognized as representatives, “their role . . . partly one of deep stillness, of being profoundly awake, of keeping faith with those beings not otherwise present within the circles.” 

At NABCIII, the MAGIC committee (Mischief, Animism, Geomancy, and Interspecies Communication) took this charge upon themselves. Under the able guidance of David Abram (ecologist, philosopher, magician, and author of The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More-Than-Human World (Pantheon Books, 1996) and Becoming Animal: An Earthly Cosmology (Pantheon Books, 2010), four human representatives prepared themselves for the final Plenary, when each committee presented its vision statement and strategies for consideration to the community as a whole. Statements were adopted (or not) by consensus, a difficult process with 200 people. 

“The practice of keeping faith with another species, or with several other species, is a discipline,” David wrote in the Proceedings of NABCIII. “It is, we might say, a practice that requires practice. Individual persons wishing to act in this capacity should be intimately aware of the biology and ecology of their familiars. And they should know, too, the traditional myths and stories regarding these species that are told by indigenous people – such stories and songs often carry a keen awareness of the emotional character, the traits and the habits of other species, an awareness (honed over generations of contact) far more nuanced and intimate than is commonly attainable by the civilized and literate intellect. Yet neither of these sources, the scientific or the storied, can take the place of direct, personal contact with other species on their own terms. . . Finally, the practice of maintaining such a rapport while being attentive to the voices and visions of human decision makers is difficult indeed. It requires listening with one ear to the human speakers while lending the other to the wind whispering in the trees, to the churning voices of the river, to the beating of one’s own heart. In this way we begin to bring the human community into resonance with the larger community of beings. We stand poised on the boundary between human culture and the wilder- ness, keeping the flow open – ensuring that the boundary functions more like a membrane and less like a barrier. This is a unique ritual – a kind of meditation for our time.” 

The Plenary took place in a large barn-like setting; the four species representatives positioned around the room. As committee reps read their visions and strategies and the consensus process decided yea or nay, my attention was focused on the species representatives. Without words, they made their presence felt. Then it was my turn to read the Economic Committee’s proposal. I must say that our vision statement was one of the best examples of group writing I’ve ever had the pleasure of helping create. 

Here’s what I read: “A bioregional economy manifests itself through qualities of gift, trust, and compassion. Bioregional economics is a tool for implementing a social agenda informed by relationships, interdependence, and diversity; and is sensitive to the scale of Earth’s systems. Bioregional economics distributes the gifts of Earth to sustain the health and richness of the biosphere in which we live and through which human needs are fulfilled. Decision-making is based on principles of local, democratic self- control and, secondarily, through mutually friendly, co-operative and compassionate relationships between and among individuals, groups, communities, bioregions, federations, and all species. A bioregional economics is expressive of a universe of beings evolving and working harmoniously toward the fulfillment of our individual destines and our common future. A bioregional economy reflects the oneness of all life”. 

As I read, I felt the wind move through the space, far and above what seemed possible given the structure we were in. I saw the trees though the windows swaying and the plant representative, who was in wonderful tree garb, was swaying too, and her face was glowing. Trees are my connection so it was natural for me to look to them first. I felt love and joy flow into the room. Even now, years later, I can close my eyes and be transported back to that moment of peace and wonder when I knew without a doubt that other species were there with us, active and participating in our human endeavors. After I finished, there was a moment of profound silence and I found myself close to tears, the feeling of “other” so real, so present I felt it in the core of my being. It was Magic of the highest order. 

In my own way I’ve tried to create space for other species. For example, before moving to Maine I often spoke at conferences and universities, and led workshops on ecological, community-based economics, the impacts of free trade and corporate globalization, etc. Whenever possible I’d move the location of those workshops outside, under as many trees as the location allowed. I did this so that our discussion would be influenced by the Earth more directly than sitting in a room made of concrete (as they often were) on plastic or metal chairs. And in the early 1990s, during the public hearing stage of the Northern Forest Land Study process, humans from the Vermont All-Species Project and my organization (now defunct), Catalyst, dressed as Owl, Wolf, Bear, and Cougar (and the Grim Reaper) spoke, giving voice to the forest creatures. 

Decisions about forests should be made in the forest, the fate of the oceans and her creatures should be made in the presence of the ocean, and so on. Policy makers and company CEOs should bear witness to the beauty and wholeness their choices will impact. While some are too hardened to be influenced in this way, others are not. Regardless of whether we “hear” them or not, the simple presence of forests, bogs, rivers, oceans, deserts are felt on some level. And it matters.