If you grew up watching Looney Toons (and if you didn’t you had a very deprived childhood!) you saw many stories about the collision of Nature and the modern world.  Water abruptly stops flowing when a huge dam is constructed overnight.  Chipmunks (or was it gophers?) get scooped up by a harvesting machine and have to escape from an automated cannery.  And in 1954’s “No Parking Hare” a construction worker tries to evict a certain wabbit so a superhighway can be built on top of his home.

The formula is simple:  peaceful forest creatures are assaulted by “progress,” the creatures fight back and outsmart the humans, we laugh at the cartoon violence, and in the end some kind of accommodation is reached.  The superhighway is built, but it goes around the rabbit hole.  Whether that arrangement was sustainable for the rabbit wasn’t discussed… like a lot of assumptions, both then and now.

Many of us like to speak of the “spirits of Nature.”  Sometimes that’s an expression of animism, the belief that all things have a spirit similar to our own spirits.  Other times it’s a reference to creatures who are closer to the land than us but who are still individual beings.  Some of us have had experiences with these creatures that give credence to our beliefs – at least for ourselves.

What happened to those creatures, those spirits of Nature, when we built our cities and suburbs on top of their homes?

I don’t know.  It’s reasonable to assume that some couldn’t deal with the loss of their homes and died.  Some moved – either to more remote regions or back to the Otherworld.  But as anyone who has seen a tree growing through a sidewalk can tell you, some are still here.

Who’s still living in your back yard?  Who’s living in the park down the street?  Who’s living in the tree in your office parking lot?

For a long time I avoided approaching the Nature spirits who live near me.  Aside from general skepticism (I am an engineer, after all) I was concerned about how I’d be received.  Just because you’re a Nature-loving, tree-hugging, Goddess-worshipping Pagan doesn’t mean Nature spirits are going to see you as anything other than another greedy land-despoiling human.  Stereotyping sucks, especially when you’re on the receiving end.

But when you’re around someone for a long time, you get to know them.  And when you live in one place for a while, the Nature spirits get to know you.  Over time, either your actions line up with your words or they don’t.

When my daily prayers began to include acknowledgement of the Nature spirits, something changed.  I went from feeling like I was being watched with suspicion to feeling like I was being watched with curiosity.  I wasn’t just addressing “Nature” any more – I was speaking directly to the spirits who live near me.  Eventually, they spoke back.

They’ve been here a long time and they don’t want to leave.  Right now their biggest concern isn’t people, it’s the drought – all living creatures need water.  Mainly they wanted to be left alone.

It was a short, polite conversation.  No pronouncements of wisdom, no offers of treasure or teaching, no dire warnings or threats.  Just neighbors, thrown together by the winds of life and change, being neighborly.

If you’re thinking this was all in my head, well, maybe you’re right.  I like what J.K. Rowling wrote in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, in the chapter “King’s Cross”:

“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?”

Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry’s ears even though the bright mist was descending again, obscuring his figure.

“Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?”

There is value in honoring the spirits of the land, no matter who they are or how you see them.

I went back to Tennessee this past weekend to visit family and friends.  It was my first trip there since the massive tornado outbreak in late April.  Although almost all the debris has been cleaned up, plenty of evidence of the destruction remains, and everyone wanted to talk about their experiences.  Coming face to face with the raw power of Nature makes an impression.

About a month later another tornado devastated Joplin, Missouri.  Here’s a link to a story about a man who survived that tornado but lost his house.  He’s planning to rebuild, but he’s going to build a much smaller house this time.

Why does it take a tornado to get us to re-evaluate our housing needs?

I’m not picking on this person – I’m sure he has good reasons for his decisions and his timing.  But according to NPR, the average American house has doubled in size since the 1950s at the same time the average family size has shrunk.  The reasons for this trend (a trend that has experienced a small reversal during the current recession) go beyond my expertise, and to be honest, beyond my interest.  While I can’t be comfortable in a Tiny House (though I admire those who can), I’ve never understood the desire for a McMansion either.

But larger houses consume more land, more materials, and more energy.  They require more upkeep.  Perhaps most importantly, they encourage us to fill them with more and more stuff.  All this siphons away limited resources – from our planet and from our own money.  Every extra dollar you spend on a larger house payment or a higher electric bill or more furniture is a dollar you can’t spend on education, travel, causes you support, or saving for your retirement (even if you want to work at a paying job for the rest of your life, there’s no guarantee you’ll be healthy enough to do so).

“I get the point” you say.   “But I couldn’t move right now if I wanted to.”  Fair enough.  But you can still downsize – or to use the corporate euphemism, “rightsize” your house.

Some years ago I worked for a large manufacturing company that graded all its factories on a monthly basis.  Many of the metrics were “per square foot” – production per square foot, utility cost per square foot, and so on.  But you could make the metrics go up by taking floor space out of use.  If you roped it off with a sign saying “reserved for new business” you could deduct that space from the denominator of the metrics.  Some people (many of them engineers and accountants who should have known better) thought that was silly:  “we’ve got the space, why not use it?”  The purpose was to encourage more efficient use of floor space, and by extension, more efficient use of everything else (and woe be unto the plant manager if a surprise inspection found anything sitting in the roped off space!).

You can do the same thing with a house that’s larger than your true needs.  Close off a room – you’ll save on heating and cooling bills.  The next step is to empty it out – sell what you can, donate what’s reusable, and trash what’s not.  Now you’ve got space reserved for new business – for something new to come into your life.  Maybe you can rent it out to a college student or someone else who needs a room.  Maybe your coven or grove or other magical group can use it for rituals in inclement weather.  Whatever you do, DON’T use it for storage!

Maybe you’re a family of four living in a two-bedroom apartment – you don’t have enough rooms, much less a spare room.  Can you clean out a closet?  A cabinet?  A shelf?

Rule of thumb:  if you haven’t used it, read it, worn it, or looked at it in a year, it needs to go.  You say it has sentimental value?  How much sentimental value could it have if you haven’t looked at it in a year?!

Clearing out the clutter and downsizing our houses consumes less resources and leaves us with more to save or spend on things and experiences that are more meaningful.  More importantly, it begins to break the mainstream mindset that we always need more more more.

Remember:  the goal isn’t to be perfect.  The goal is to be better.  Don’t wait for a tornado to get started.

Living in the modern Western world – especially living in the surburbs – makes it easy to disconnect from Nature, from our Source.  To repair these connections requires dedicated spiritual practice, such as saluting  the Sun and the Moon or communing with trees.  Over time, these spiritual practices change our mindsets and the changes in our mindsets change our behaviors.  The end result is a life and a lifestyle that is more connected and more sustainable, regardless of where we live.

Spiritual practices – no matter how meaningful and how helpful – are ultimately means to an end and not ends in and of themselves.  Spiritual practices allow us to engage Nature on our own terms – we choose when and where and how to do them.  If it’s pouring down rain, we can do our tree communion another day.  If it’s 105 in the shade, we can step outside, quickly salute the Sun, say a prayer and duck back into the air conditioning before we break a sweat.  This isn’t necessarily bad, particularly for beginners.  Doing small things consistently is much more helpful than doing big things irregularly.

But every now and then Nature decides to engage us on her terms, not ours.  Every now and then we’re forced to connect with Nature in a way that’s inconvenient… to borrow a phrase.  Sometimes this involuntary engagement is life-threatening, like with earthquakes and hurricanes.  And sometimes it’s much less serious but just as real.

A flock of birds has decided to roost in the tree outside my bedroom window.  And they seem to think that 10 PM to 2 AM is the perfect time for chirping.  Loudly.  I don’t know why – I’m an engineer, not an ornithologist.  Maybe the streetlamps are confusing their internal clocks.  Maybe that’s when the insects they like to eat are out.  Or maybe they’re just happy the temperature has dropped below 90 by then.

Regardless of why, they’re making it difficult for me to get to sleep.  And my alarm clock goes off at 5:15 whether I get to sleep at 10:30 or 2:30.

Her:  “You wanted Nature – here she is!”

Me:  “Yeah, but not like THIS!”

I’m no pacificist when it comes to Nature.  I eat meat.  Yes, I have killed, cleaned and cooked it myself – not frequently and not recently, but I have done it.  I have no qualms about swatting mosquitos that land on my arm or trapping mice that get in my attic.  And if these birds stick around and become a health hazard then I’ll have to do something to get rid of them.

For now, though, they’re simply messengers.  They’re reminding me that I’m a part of Nature – and so are a lot of other creatures and natural processes.  They’re reminding me that the purpose of communing with the natural world isn’t to control it but to cooperate with it.  They’re reminding me that I still have much to learn, and it won’t all come easily and pleasantly.

And they’re reminding me that I really need to go to bed earlier.  If I can just get to sleep before they start chirping…

Suburbia can be an isolating place.  Without care, it can cut us off from our neighbors and from the natural world.  Eventually this isolation can creep into our spiritual lives and from there into our decision making, causing us to do things that are harmful to us and to our world.  Overcoming this challenge requires regular spiritual practice to form and maintain strong connections to Nature and the Spirits of Nature.

Fortunately, most of us in suburbia have access to trees.  Even the cheapest new development usually has a sapling planted in the front yard, while established neighborhoods often have large old trees.  And nothing is better at connections than a tree.

“Tree hugging” is usually heard as a term of derision, but it can be a rewarding experience.  There is nothing quite like wrapping yourself around another sturdy living thing and feeling its body against yours.  If you’ve never done it before, try it!

But as good as tree hugging feels, the connections it forms tend to be short-lived.  For deeper, stronger connections, try communing with a tree.

Be polite and don’t make assumptions.  Start by approaching a nearby tree and asking if it would like to commune with you.  Then listen for an answer – and listen with more than your physical ears.  My experience has been that most trees are far more accepting, less judgmental and less pre-judgmental than most humans.  But occasionally you’ll come across a tree that just wants to be left alone.  If so, simply excuse yourself and approach another tree.

It helps if you learn a little about the tree in advance.  What kind of tree is it?  Is it native to the area?  How much water and sunlight does it need?  Does it look the same all year, or does it drop its leaves in Winter?  Does it produce fruit, nuts, berries, or flowers?   Based on its size and location, roughly how old is it?  Is it in good health?

Look at the tree closely.  What life does it support?  Do birds live in it?  Squirrels?  Insects?  Are the insects helpful or  harmful to the tree?

When you’re ready, sit on the ground with your back against the trunk of the tree.  Close your eyes.  Relax.  Breathe.  Trees are strong and supple and majestic, but they aren’t fast.  Take your time.  Feel the physical connection between you and the tree.

Breathe, and as you breathe in, know that you’re breathing in oxygen this tree produced.  Breathe, and as you breathe out, know that the tree is breathing in carbon dioxide you produced.  You and the tree are sustaining each other.

Now see the tree’s roots – imagine them, visualize them, feel them.  Feel them going deep into the soil.  What is the soil like – moist or dry?  Full of nutrients or sparse?  What else is living in the soil?  Feel moisture being pulled out of the soil, into the roots, and up into the body of the tree.  The tree is connected to the Earth, and you are connected to the tree.

With your eyes still closed, “see” the tree’s branches and leaves or needles.  Feel them absorbing light, feeding, growing.  Feel the wind blowing through the branches.  The tree is connected to the Air, and you are connected to the tree.

Allow plenty of time for the communion.  Feel the tree’s life processes and connections and how they’re all connected to you.

Perhaps the tree will speak to you.  Perhaps it won’t.  Be polite and don’t make assumptions – it hasn’t been standing there all those years just waiting for you to come along.  And remember that although trees – particularly old trees – can be very wise, nothing has all the answers.  What trees can provide is their own unique perspective on Life and its many interconnections.

When you’re finished, open your eyes and look around.  Stand up and face the tree.  Thank the tree for communing with you.

Do this regularly and over time you will develop a strong connection with the tree, and through the tree, with all of Nature.