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I saw a picture on social media the other day that caught my attention. It was a drawing of a forest and it showed how all the beings within it work together. The fungi and the plants and trees all communicate, each one bringing something to support the whole. Then the question was posed: what do humans contribute?
Many of the comments were along the lines of: “Nothing.” and “All we do is take.”
I have a hard time believing that we are here simply to destroy or that we have nothing of value to contribute.
I thought about it for quite a while. I suppose, like other animals, we contribute the air we exhale as something useful for plants. Nowadays, not very many of us contribute our bodies to decompose and feed the earth that way, but it does happen. I got kind of spun up about the whole thing, determined to find an answer.
What do we contribute to the beings of the land?
Then I thought: “Maybe the answer lies in our skills or talents.”
I’ve long believed that the human superpower—the thing we are all inherently gifted with—is making meaning. We are, by nature storytellers. Every one of us assigns some form of meaning to (or tells a story about) every experience we have. Now, it might not always be some deep, profound meaning. It’s raining outside? Well, that means traffic might be worse than normal and I should leave a bit early for the meeting. Or even more simply…It’s raining outside? That means I’ll take my jacket. I’m tired? That means I didn’t get enough sleep last night.
I guess we can’t know for sure that other animals don’t do this. I think they DO have their own creation stories and mythologies, but I’m not so sure they make a story of every experience the way we do. I’ve spent considerable time with animals and it seems to me that when they’re tired, they sleep. I haven’t noticed them pausing to tell themselves the story of why they’re tired.
Just because we all have this superpower, it doesn’t mean that our storying is always of the highest order. Like all superpowers, it can be used by both superheroes and supervillains. Sometimes our storytelling is uplifting and enlightening. Sometimes our storytelling is patently false and intentionally mean-spirited. And then sometimes (especially when we’re telling stories to ourselves), we can simply be unreliable because we can’t see all the information. Regardless, we keep right on making meaning, because this is what we do.
As far as I can tell, this meaning-making superpower has been part of the human experience since the earliest days. If you’re new here, let me just preface this by saying that my work involves interacting with my long-dead ancestors on a regular basis. My ancestral guides have shown me—even as far back as 30,000 years ago—that making meaning was always a big deal. They showed me that ancient peoples were quite conscious of this and they conducted seasonally-based rituals to help decide which experiences they wanted to make meaning of and tell stories about (which oftentimes became the foundation of mythologies that we still know today).
Could this be what we contribute?
What if it’s our job to tell the stories of the other beings here? What if our contribution is to story them into a richer experience of being? What if we’re meant to give others the gift of meaning?
I’m not suggesting we go out and start randomly assigning meaning to the rocks and trees around us all willy-nilly. (That would be an act of domination and let’s stop doing that.) After all, with great power comes great responsibility.
Chances are very good that there are traditional human stewards of the place where we each live, and that, after having been in relationship with the land for thousands of years, these humans have already storied it. If we have access to these stories, that’s a great place to start. I think it’s important that we approach this with an intention of relating well, and that we take care to not re-interpret these stories for our own purposes.
After that, though, I think we need to get to know the individual beings. Spend time with them. That boulder on the corner? Sit with it. Read to it. Speak to it. The tree that catches your eye every time you pass? Press your cheek to it. Let the wind through its branches ruffle your hair.
Even more importantly, though, listen to them.
Sometimes the stories—the meanings—come directly from the land and its inhabitants. In this case, maybe our job is to listen, absorb, and then re-express them in our very human way. As we make meaning of the beings, I believe we must then tell them. Go back to the boulder or the tree and tell them their stories.
A call to action
I’m going to put this idea into practice and story an ancient cottonwood tree that lives nearby, after which I will post it for all to share. I invite you all to join me in this practice and write the story of one of your nature friends or a geographical feature. Please tag me when you post it because I can’t wait to read them all!
Because my desire in this process is to contribute and not to be culturally insensitive (either to the tree itself or to the traditional human stewards of the land here), here is the process I plan to follow:
Look to what is already written by traditional stewards.
Look to what my ancestors might have said about cottonwood or related trees.
Listen to the tree itself and the land where it lives, as well as the acequia and the wildlife. In other words, notice the tree’s context and who it relates with all the time.
Put myself into the story so that the story holds meaning about our relationship.
Most significantly, frame the story to demonstrate what the trees means to me.
I’m really excited about this and eagerly await what we all come up with! Do you already have a favorite land being in mind? Let me know in the comments below. 🤗
I just finished the book Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Kimmerer and she plunges the depths of this question too. Her conclusion—after chapter upon chapter of gorgeous prose that marries traditional knowledge with her more scientific training—is so simple, yet so profound: gratitude. We are here to participate on this exquisite earth with gratitude for all we encounter. Meaning making can take me too much into my mind, but perhaps this is just my wiring and too many years of needing to control and order my reality. So resting in my heart with gratitude and a hefty “I don’t know” feels good and connects me to a celebration of the mystery.
This is beautiful Jenna. Thank you. There is such wisdom in nature, in the human and deceased custodians of a particular time and place - past and present, in our ancestral lineage and in our own hearts - what we need to do is pause and listen and be open.
I am travelling at the moment, spending short periods of time in different lands, and in different landscapes. Nature is speaking to me, sharing with me their story, telling me something for my own story. Fleeting moments sometimes. Other times lengthy sharings. Each time an initiation into something greater within me. You have a beautiful invitation here. thank you.