Heartfelt Hierarchy

In my conversations with people who are tuned into the world of nature spirits and are striving to listen deeply, questions about hierarchy often come up. What is a human’s proper role in this new, expanded picture? Often enough, in my own attempts I feel way down on the totem pole of wisdom, rather than at the top, as human beings are supposed to be—sensing that I have more to learn than I have to give.

My nature communication group was recently wondering about the need for a hierarchy, questioning why we can’t operate with a feeling of equality instead. “When I leave my human perspective,” one person said, “and enter into the tree’s, the depth changes and I have a much wider perspective.” We acknowledged that each level of being has different qualities and ways of serving the whole, but we questioned the value of judging one to be inferior or less important. Another participant, a geomancer, says he has tried to learn from nature how it uses hierarchy. The question we posed was: What human traits are useful to the rest of creation?

The common scientific view, that we can just keep manipulating nature, moving ever forward from one unforeseen set of consequences to a new, double-blind-tested patch-up seems arrogant in the extreme. I recently listened to a TED talk, for example, that pronounced the end of the antibiotic era, given the rapidity with which bacteria are becoming resistant to each new antibiotic innovation and the reluctance of pharmaceutical companies to continue the long process of development required for each new drug.

I often find myself marveling that consultation with nature itself and with nature spirits—a leap into the intuitive, right side of the brain—is rarely, if ever, a proposed solution in the mainstream conversation. So it’s understandable that for people exploring this cross-communication, a position of human superiority is not viable. Most of us are such novices in these practices and must painstakingly reconstruct the old ways while continuing to avail ourselves of, and value, the gifts of western science. We know a bridging is necessary, but it’s wide-open, uncharted territory.

The cytogeneticist Barbara McClintock always springs to mind as a rare and marvelous example of a scientist who naturally crossed that barrier we’ve set up between humans and the rest of creation. She was always turning over her research questions to the corn kernels themselves and even describes entering the kernel to follow its true workings. In her Nobel Prize speech she said, “It might seem unfair to reward a person for having so much pleasure over the years, asking the maize plant to solve specific problems and then watching its responses.”

That exquisite humility seems to be a hallmark of “seers”, signaling a willingness to accept the livingness and wisdom of the earth and the creatures and forms that inhabit it—and to consult and be willing to participate in the deep order of things. For me, that doesn’t deny the reality of or the need for hierarchy. Certainly each of us, in our individuality and in our bigger “category”, has a role to play, and a growth path of possibility.

According to Mano, Barbara’s gnome teacher, this is true of the elementals as well. “There are many levels of consciousness among the gnomes. They are in an evolutionary pattern of growth in the same manner as humans. We have different names for each degree of gnome consciousness.” For example, he says, “The more basic gnomes work with the roots of plants and trees. They open pathways for the water spirits to move within the earth. They oversee the growth of minerals. Deep within the interior structure of earth are gnomes of the statue of master. These beings work with the laws of the universe, moving energies to keep the balance of earth in relationship to the movement of moon, sun, planets, and stars.”

In his April “Spirit’s of Nature” telesummit talk, David Spangler takes into account this question of hierarchy in a way that has helped me. First he expresses another of my group’s strong feelings: We don’t want this communication with nature to be just an idea or concept; we want to participate. This requires that we begin to look at ourselves, and our particular roles, differently, Spangler says, as bridges between the “two ecologies”—that of the physical and the non-physical. (“We live in a body, but we’re also subtle beings; we are nature spirits, too, in a human way.”)

When he communicates with a beloved tree in his yard, he uses this protocol (a complete explanation is on his website). “First, I stand before the tree in my sovereignty as a human being. I want to stand in my own center and affirm my identity, my integrity and wholeness as a human being and as a specific individual. . . I move from sitting to standing, a physical feeling of standing, feeling my spine stretch up to the cosmos and my feet expend down into the earth, then feel my own individuality. My hands, as one who stands, are free to participate. Second, I ask: What have I to give as a human being? I am (we all are) a generative source of self-light. . . . I blend with you, the tree, in making this vitality available to you in a way you can use. I’m asking for your help and partnering. Then I listen, in stillness, to hear.”