The other week, my friend Kera wrote this (in her Mountain Horse school newsletter, which many people subscribe to, in order to find out when school camps and awesome nature programs on, but which I read devotedly because the woman is a poet.)
This idea, that I am nature, not just that I am connected with nature, but that I too am nature, am of the natural world, am an expression of nature, am all the elements, am a landscape… is so radical to me, and holds this invitation that I find scary and tear-jerky and revelatory and lovely: come home to our bodies, especially those of us inhabiting female bodies, as nature, as a place, as a landscape.
I just listened to this rad podcast about Burnout: – and the sisters, who co-authored the book on Burn Out, Emily and Amelia Nagoski, said, “As women, we are so used to paying more attention to other people’s opinions about our bodies, than listening to our actual bodies.”
Does this resonate for you at all? How much has your relationship with your own body been defined and shaped by how someone else responded to it, how it measured up against the cat walk models, the magazine features, the actresses, the stars, how it performed according to a certain performance standard.
How much time have you spent hating and castigating and chastising this body, instead of greeting it with fondness, appreciation, or curiosity. “Hey, body, what’s up today? What adventures shall we get up to? How are you feeling? What kinda vibe are we going to rock?”
IMAGINE if we turned, en masse, back towards our bodies, as our home, with the kindness and awe that we have when we gaze at something beautiful in nature.
If you want to practice this feeling, follow this account.
And next time someone says, what is the closet piece of nature around here, put your hand on your heart, and feel it thrum. Right here, baby. I’m right here.