How to Cultivate Mindfulness through Your Connection to Nature

There is weather in Seattle, not just rain. Someone told me, when I first moved there, that all the glorious sunshine we have for days on end all summer long, would simply end one day. As if someone turned the faucet on and forgot to turn it off.

Puget Sound

Well, it does rain in Seattle, but not just any rain. There are MANY different kinds of rain in the Pacific Northwest. Sometimes, we are wrapped in a damp blanket of drizzle. It took awhile after I moved there, but the rain and I are finally developed a relationship. We bonded.


Sometimes, it is simply a steady springkling, not too hard. The kind of rain that when it hits the hood of your REI-Gore-Tex-Rain-Jacket, it sounds just like rain hitting your tent as you sleep in the rainforests of the Olympic Peninsula in western Washington.

I often spent the day at Seward Park, the only state park left within the city limits of Seattle that still has old growth forest. Seward Park sits on a peninsula of sorts that juts out into Lake Washington, so it is surrounded by water on three sides. Well, make that four sides- water from above as well. You can walk the perimeter of the park, along the lake, and you can walk in the midst of the forest on trails that take you back a hundred years or so into wilderness, into wildness.


Bald eagles still nest at Seward Park and I often saw one. Since many days are shrouded in mist, sometimes I could not really tell if it was an eagle or not, but I could tell that it was an enormous soaring bird. That is one of the benefits of Seattle weather...it blurs the real with the surreal...so my bird becomes an eagle for me, if only for the day. A small gift to soothe my soul.

The rain here protects us, reminds us to retreat every once in a while, to slow down, to be present in each and every moment. November rain provides the advent of our season of contemplation. The rain is a reassurance, a constant. You know that no matter what you do each day, the rain will be there- comforting- like an old friend. In Seattle, you can rely on the rain.


Before I lived in Seattle I lived in the high desert of Walla Walla, WA. I remember writing to my grandparents on the east coast: “We don’t get weather here. It’s just sunny, blue sky everyday. I’ve been here two months and I have not seen one cloud yet.” I said this, almost as a complaint, wishing for just a little bit of dark relief from the relentless sun. 

Columbia River Gorge

I discovered the meaning of Big Sky when I moved to eastern Washington. The rain gets trapped on the west side of the Cascade Mountains, so eastern Washington is a veritable desert. I learned to appreciate the many different shades of brown: deep, rich earthy browns- the color of the fields when the dirt has been turned over after the harvest. Golden light brown, the color of the wheat as it sways silently across the Palouse, juxtaposed with the bright sun and deep blue sky, where you can see for miles and miles in any direction. No large evergreen trees, not many trees period, but lots of sagebrush. You grow to love sagebrush when you live in the open desert.


There is so much healing in our connection to nature, in our connection to the landscape around us: so much mystery and peace. I experienced this myself over a decade ago when I moved to Washington state. I was drawn to the wide-open spaces and I cherish them. For 15 years in my Sociology classes, I assigned the wonderful book Refuge by Terry Tempest Williams. One of the themes of the book is our healing and spiritual connection to nature, and the importance of having a sense of place, a connection to the land. A dear environmental sociologist friend first shared this book with me, and my life has never been the same. He has since died from lung cancer, though he never ever smoked. He was a “down-winder,” a victim of the nuclear testing ground of Hanover, WA to the west of Walla Walla.


Over the years, my students have come from a wide variety of ages and backgrounds, but they all have resonated with the idea of a spiritual connection to nature. Almost every person has had a story of a sacred encounter in nature. Some described how a love of the ‘outdoors’ was often cultivated in them from childhood on. We discussed how connecting with the Earth, for some unknown reason, brings us into a larger, deeper connection with our God and brings us into a deeper connection with our inner self, our soul.


Living out in the Pacific Northwest, you have no choice but to connect with your surroundings. The contradictions in the landscape between the east and west side of the state speak volumes, and you are propelled to become mindful of who you are and become aware of where you are.

Mt. Rainier and Seward Park to the left

When it is not raining in Seattle, the Cascade Mountains call to you from the east and the Olympic Mountains call to you from the West.

Mt. Rainier, a 14,400 foot volcano looms valiantly above the city, humbling and awing us all at once. On a sunny day, Mt. Rainier causes more traffic jams than a fender bender...one simply must stare and Pay Attention. The beauty we find in nature reminds us of that as well- to be Awake in our lives to the beauty in others.

 
These have been the themes that nature has taught me so far: to become awake, to pay attention to the mystery of life, but to also remember to retreat, slow down, and reflect. My connection to the land, and to nature, has provided me with these life lessons and so I honor God and what He has created in return.