“To be alive in this beautiful, self-organizing universe—to participate in the dance of life with senses to perceive it, lungs that breathe it, organs that draw nourishment from it—is a wonder beyond words.” - Joanna Macy

Writing is a practice that can take us right into the heart of the living world, and give voice to the rhythms, the whispers, the heartbeats and longings of beings all around us. In times of ecological unraveling, writing can be a sacred act of reconnection—a way to praise, to ask, to be in dialogue, to witness, and to listen.

We often think of writing as something we do—something generated from our own ideas, experiences, or insights. But there is a way in which writing becomes a form of listening, a dialogue between our spirit and the Spirit of Life itself. One in which the Earth is not only our subject but our co-author.

Odes to the Earth

“In the face of impermanence and death, it takes courage to love the things of this world and to believe that praising them is our noblest calling.” -Joanna Macy

There are two wings to this writing practice. The first is praise—the art of offering love letters or odes to the Earth. These are not essays or polished poems. They are spontaneous, heartfelt expressions of awe and intimacy. You might express your appreciation for a cedar tree you pass every day, a hummingbird at your window, or the smell of rain in the air. The practice is simple: slow down, notice, and give voice to what you find beautiful, sacred, and alive—right in front of you. 

This kind of writing invites us to witness, to observe, to see the sacred in the details of each unique expression of life. It is a way of saying, I see you. I remember you. I am grateful. And as with any relationship, the more we offer our attention, the more life offers itself back.

Odes from the Earth

“Now it can dawn on us: we are our world knowing itself. 
We can relinquish our separateness. 
We can come home again.” –Joanna Macy

The second wing is listening, receiving—a free-writing practice in which we allow the Earth, or any aspect of the living world, to speak to us and through us. We attune, we open, and we write as if the Earth were using our hands to speak. It might begin with a question:

Earth, Mama, Creator—what would you have me know today?
River, what do you see that I do not? How should I flow?
What do you need from us, dear Grandmother Oak? 

Then we write. Not from thought, but from a felt sense of connection. Without judgment, without editing, without trying to make it poetic or profound. We let the words come as they come, spill out across the page, like a river-of-consciousness, even if they make no sense at first. This is not performance—it’s a conversation. 

You might be surprised what emerges: messages, images, feelings, rhythms. Sometimes it sounds like your own voice, other times like a deeper current rising. Sometimes it’s clear, sometimes fragmented. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the opening. The willingness to listen.

How to Practice

Set the Space

Find a quiet place, indoors or out. It can be at your sit spot, in a park, or at your kitchen table with a leaf or stone beside you. Take a few deep breaths. Become attuned to your senses. Feel your body as part of the Earth. 

Praise the Earth with Specificity

Start by writing a short love letter or ode to something specific in the natural world. Maybe it’s the dandelion growing through concrete, or the softness of evening light. Be as specific and sensual as you can. Let your praise be unruly, tender, embodied. Let it pour from you. Be lavish in your love.

Ask and Listen

When you’re ready, close your eyes. Ask a question from your heart. Then write without censoring yourself—free and unfiltered. Don’t stop to think or analyze. Let the Earth or that specific being write through you. You may even change pens or use your non-dominant hand if that helps bypass the inner critic.

You might write:
“What would you have me remember today?”
“Where do you want me to place my energy?”
“How can I live in greater reciprocity?”

Then allow the words to come. If nothing comes at first, just keep your pen moving. Trust the stillness. Trust the voice of the Earth to flow.

Reflect and Offer Thanks

When you’ve finished, take a moment to sit with what you received. You might feel called to speak it aloud, or to make a simple offering—a whispered “thank you,” a drop of water, a breath. This honors the relationship.

A Living, Evolving Practice

This writing can become a sacred rhythm in your life. You might do it once a week, every new moon, or at the change of seasons. Over time, this becomes more than a writing practice—it becomes a relationship practice. A way to reenter the sacred conversation with the Spirit of Life itself.

And for the artists among us, this can also be a drawing practice. You might sketch the being you’re in dialogue with. Let your hand follow the contours of a leaf, or the movement of wind across grass. Listen through lines. Praise through color. Let the Earth speak through your brush as well as your pen.

In a time when so much is uncertain, when the supremacist ways of thinking have brought us to the edge of extinction, this practice invites us to return into relationship. So pick up your pen. Step outside. Offer your praise. Ask your question. And listen.