Once, on a July Buck Moon, I went out to the woods to look for something hidden from me.

Reverently I went a-wandering, for I’d lost something long ago and I longed for nothing more than to be found by it.

I’d been having a recurring dream: Each time, I’m in a field and a great Bear approaches me. And every time, I run away, horrified. So that day, my heart filled with gratitude and surrender, I asked the forest to show me, show me— what have I been running from?

I told the lilting trees, and I told Bear (who does live in those particular woods): I am in your hands. I will not run. I walked more quietly than ever amongst the living breathing community of verdant sway. After a while, I meandered off the main trail, deep inot the thicket on the thinnest of Deer trails.

Suddenly, out of nowhere and everywhere, I startled and was likewise startled by a Young Buck…mere feet from me. Frozen both except our heaving chests, we stared into each other’s very souls. And that stare, mere feet apart, that sacred gaze, through the dappled shadow and light, changed me.

I was never the same again, and some small part of me— a far too small part— was never seen again. And that beloved Young Buck... he, too, was changed.

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The human scene out on the trail is usually much the same as when we’re gathered in our back yards, or at the gym or in school:

Loud, busy, chatty, fast and oblivious to the subtle energies of which we are a not-so-subtle part.

We go into “wildlife refuges” — places we’ve now designated for the Wild Ones to find a scrap of safety and escape from the violence of modern human life— and yet so often, we fail to truly give ourselves refuge while in such natural sanctuaries. We go to the woods to get some exercise in a beautiful setting. We take to the trail to catch up with a friend while getting some fresh air. We go on a “field trip” to get out of our otherwise nature-less educations.

And, bless us, we do feel refreshed. But refreshed is not the same as changed within. “Refreshed” wears off. But to slow down, and bring an intentionality to time in the wild (or any place out-of-doors)— THAT can bring about the kind of revelation, courage, enchantment and destiny that is not so easily worn off by the chaos of civilization.

What does the forest feel when we step into her energetic field? Or the shore or misty moors, the mountain stream or the Buck?

In every spiritual culture in the world, there is some form of the art of sauntering.

It might be called walking meditation, wandering or forest bathing. To the Celts, to walk in a sacred, reverent way through wild places (including our own parks & neighborhoods) is a beloved pastime, as necessary as water. Because the Celts see every place having its own Spirit, every being its own Soul, to saunter is to be in conversation with the world while moving through it. It’s to see oneself as as part of the landscape, integral to its well-being, and the beings of the Land integral to our own health.

We all saunter as children, but the older we get, the less we do it. Some might say that’s because we’ve gotten too busy. But mostly it’s because we are afraid. We’re afraid of the dangerous kind of deep connection, lost long ago, waiting for us out there in those woods. Something we maybe don’t wish to find, or worse, be found by… because it might change us. It might make us tell the truth where we’ve not been able to, or take a risk we’d rather avoid.

But, we’re missing out. And the wilderness is, at best, dearly missing our loving attention as well. At worst, the Wild greatly suffers from Her loss of dignity in being valued as a living, breathing, conscious Being.

The forest always knows I’m there. The waves you watch are watching you.

I’ve often heard people cynically say— “Earth doesn’t need us. She does just fine on her own.” On some level, sure. But the main trouble with this line of thinking (and there’s lots of trouble with it) is the truth that we are here.

Thinking we’re some kind of mistake or failure, unwanted and unneeded by the Earth is a distraction from our true inheritance, which is that we are Earth. Denying our inherent belonging makes it easy to loudly and thoughtlessly take up space in the wild, rather than reverently take up space.

We are literally of Her: Earthlings. There is no Mother who would cast off her children on a soul level. And since humanity isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, perhaps rather than waste time thinking about how we aren't needed by Earth, we might open our hearts to how we are. We might choose to honor the gift of consciousness we’ve been given to do the most holy work for Nature: which is to mirror back to her the Beauty, Truth and Wonder we see in Her.

We might step past the idea that we can do nothing to “save the earth” and instead strive to be more like the beautiful Wild Ones who seem, so effortlessly, to do no harm.

“In every walk with nature one receives far more than ONE seeks.”

-JOHN MUIR

One of the best ways I’ve ever known to do that is to saunter.

With Latin roots stretching back to the word “sacred” and “saint,” to saunter is to walk in a sacred, leisurely and un-hurried way… In Midieval times, to saunter also meant “to take a risk.” And yes! … How risky it was that day, to offer myself up the Mystery of the woods and my dreams, in order to meet that Young Buck— so close we could catch each other’s scent— and be changed.

Next time you feel inspired to go walk in the forest or along the shore or in any wild or semi-wild place you have access to, I invite you to Saunter—

7 Steps To Turn Any Nature Walk Into a Saunter:

Go completely alone.
No friends, no pets, no headphones. Music in the ears, pets exploring everything or chatting with friends isn’t condusive to the kind of highly personal, reverent relationship with a wild place that you’re inviting yourself (and the Land) into.
Let someone know where you’ve gone.
AND when you plan to return and please, keep your wits about you while sauntering! They say Not All Who Wander Are Lost. Which implies that some who wander are indeed lost. Don’t be one of them.
Come into relationship with the Land, using all of your senses.
When you arrive, walk for a bit at a good pace, allowing the mental chatter to lessen. When you feel you’ve more fully arrived, begin to slow your pace. Use all of your senses to come into relationship with the Land you’re moving through (this will also help calm the thinking mind). What does it smell like? What grows here? What small creatures, tracks, birds do you notice? What elements are most present? What does this place feel like to you? What kind of personality and energy does it seem to offer?
Look for a threshold place.
Once you’ve spent some time noticing everything, begin to looking for a threshold place— a place that feels alluring to you in some way. It may be a pleasant allurement, or mysterious or even disarming. But you’ll know this is place when you see it. It could be as simple as a stick on the ground or a stretch of brook, or something much more dramatic.
Offer your heartfelt gratitude & praise.
Stop in this place, and again, using all of your sense, get to know this threshold that’s so generously offered itself up to you. And then, introduce yourself. Out loud. If speaking aloud to the Wild Ones feels challenging for you, try a whisper. Tell them your name, and you might offer some praise or words of wonderment at what you find beautiful or interesting about this place. Tell this place you’re here to witness and be witnessed. Treat them as you would any new friends whom you genuinely admire.
Ask permission to share anything that’s on your mind / heart.
If you have a particular problem you’re facing or exciting news to share or a sorrow— ask if this threshold keeper would be willing to listen. You may feel a “yes” or “not right now” in any number of ways, so keep alert. If you feel a “yes,” speak your Truth to this space. If “not right now,” consider that the medicine and either sit silently or saunter on. But never forget to thank this threshold place.
Thank the forest & keep track of your wander experiences.
Before you get too close to the trail’s end or your car, take another moment to pause, and thank this place again, in your own words and aloud, for having you as a guest. You might want to keep a journal of your saunters.

7 Steps for Sacred Strolls in Nature

Once, on a July Buck Moon, I went out to the woods to look for something hidden from me.

Reverently I went a-wandering, for I’d lost something long ago and I longed for nothing more than to be found by it.

I was never the same again, and some small part of me— a far too small part— was never seen again. And that beloved Young Buck... he, too, was changed.

The human scene out on the trail is usually much the same as when we’re gathered in our back yards, or at the gym or in school:

Loud, busy, chatty, fast and oblivious to the subtle energies of which we are a not-so-subtle part.

What does the forest feel when we step into her energetic field? Or the shore or misty moors, the mountain stream or the Buck?

In every spiritual culture in the world, there is some form of the art of sauntering.

The forest always knows I’m there. The waves you watch are watching you.

I’ve often heard people cynically say— “Earth doesn’t need us. She does just fine on her own.” On some level, sure. But the main trouble with this line of thinking (and there’s lots of trouble with it) is the truth that we are here.

We might step past the idea that we can do nothing to “save the earth” and instead strive to be more like the beautiful Wild Ones who seem, so effortlessly, to do no harm.

One of the best ways I’ve ever known to do that is to saunter.

7 Steps To Turn Any Nature Walk Into a Saunter:

Go completely alone.

Let someone know where you’ve gone.

Come into relationship with the Land, using all of your senses.

Look for a threshold place.

Offer your heartfelt gratitude & praise.

Ask permission to share anything that’s on your mind / heart.

Thank the forest & keep track of your wander experiences.