This essay explores some of the personal and philosophical underpinnings of my project Storied Grounds.
Growing up as a visibly mixed-race woman in the United States, I’m no stranger to having people read placelessness and pathology onto my body and interior experience. The type of intrapsychic conflict attributed to mulattoes has been the stuff of literature, film, and seemingly endless works of scholarship. But seldom do I encounter a substantive reckoning with the epidemic of placelessness that besets so many modern people, and not just those who wear their multiplicity and otherness on the outside of their bodies.
The wellsprings of difference that shape us are multiple and whether they are readily visible or not, it is challenging for any person to experience any meaningful sense of home if all that binds them to place are shallow allegiances and surface-level identities buoyed by mass cultural trends. I’ve long felt intuitively that a more unshakable foundation for belonging must be available in the Earth itself, but how to access it without tripping over the historical minefields and contemporary realities that sustain detachment and litter our lands with violence?
The interdisciplinary field of Ecopsychology has been a driving force in this unfolding conversation within Western societies, pointing to the fundamental human need for connection to the natural world, and the need to disrupt the patterns of alienation and disembodied grief that have taken hold. Yet so much of the literature on the psychological imperative of cultivating a sense of place does not sufficiently address the reality of migration—whether chosen or forced—across space and time, and the various factors (e.g. violence and collective trauma) that may severely complicate an individual or community’s connection to a given place and embodied experience more generally. This raises a number of questions including how do we cultivate soulful connection to place when ancestral nature connection practices feel inaccessible or unfitting, when we struggle to locate clear points of origin, and when the chain of events that brought us to this place (and now sustains our lives on it) have been riddled with pain and violence?
Complex historical and contemporary realities ranging from land dispossession and settler colonialism to terroristic violence and extractive economies make it challenging for a great many people to experience safety, belonging, and self-determination on any landscape. Further, various dislocations and patterns of violence have disrupted access to lineal traditions previously passed down at the grassroots, opening the door to the ‘epistemic’ violence of cultural appropriation as so many of us attempt reconnection to our living surroundings. In this time of heightened ecological change, it is also humbling to consider how relationships to place may also be changing for all manner of life forms, the migratory journeys we may yet undertake, and how ‘home’ and ‘community’ may be reconfigured in the face of deepening trauma, ingenuity, and resilience.
In the face of all of this unceasing complexity, it is easy for emotional stagnation and feelings of detachment to set in. Questions like “should I even be ‘at home’ in this place” or “how can I celebrate beauty in the midst of so much suffering and violence” emerge. And yet, I have found powerful antidotes to these stagnating lines of thought in fun embodied practices that nourish my body and feed my imagination. Practices such as bioregional herbalism, foraging, navigating without a GPS, and learning the language of birds—along with a sustained openness to enchantment—have allowed me to experience a deeper sense of home and earthly connection even in the midst of many unresolved questions. Ecopsychological theorist Craig Chalquist has argued that enchantment is a basic right of human beings and that “an assault on enchantment is an assault on the human spirit.” He thus calls for “enchantivism,” a departure from activism that seeks entirely different rewards. In Chalquist’s work, enchantivism refers to
“the many ways we make lasting change by telling reenchanting stories about our relations with ourselves, each other, or our ailing but still-beautiful planet; sharing our reflections and inviting others’ on the relevance of these stories; and then letting the stories impel creative and thoughtful responses to how things are.”
This approach does not purport to heal all of the ills of civilization but is rather an invitation to increased aliveness, awe, and solidarity in the midst of it all. Through this reorientation to fun and enchantment alongside sustained reflection, I believe that we can combat the stultifying forces that dispossess us of meaningful connection and aliveness.
As I’ve considered what it could look like to share this experience with others, I contemplated my learnings from an earlier experiment of mine centered around freeing learning and consciousness from various types of enclosures. A few years ago, I had begun exploring what possibilities can emerge when you free consciousness from the ivory tower and other contexts that circumscribe the real, the true, and the types of intelligence that matter in a more-than-human world brimming with intelligence. Among the many lessons that these experiments produced was a core insight that embodied connection to the web of life is the vital, originary core of all learning and genuine empowerment, and merely invoking it in the abstract just isn’t enough. As David Abram wrote in his book Becoming Animal, “[t]his animal body, for all its susceptibility and vertigo, remains the primary instrument of all our knowing, as the capricious earth remains our primary cosmos.”
Educational philosopher Paulo Freire famously opined that we “read the word to read the world”—that is, to gain a deeper grasp of our social environment. Like Abram, however, my experience teaches me that we must also learn to perceive the more-than-human lifeworlds beyond the text to achieve any meaningful grounding in reality. There’s so much truth that escapes textual representation and can only be touched, tasted, intuited, and otherwise perceived through an embodied encounter with the livingness of the world within and beyond ourselves. In contrast to a mass culture that leaves us simultaneously everywhere and nowhere in particular, informing us of who we are through narratives that abstract us from felt experience and place, we have an opportunity to recalibrate our meaning making practices to our unmediated experiences of the world itself.
What I am embarking upon through Storied Grounds is an experiment in tapping the intelligence of the body, the abundance of the landscape, and the richness of stories of people and place to cultivate an experience of 'home' irrespective of the thorny paths that brought each of us here. Through this project, I aim to take education and healing beyond the four walls of the classroom, the physician’s office, and other enclosures into the nooks and crannies of local landscapes where the co-mingling of micro-stories of place and species, and meta-stories of land and society can breathe a greater sense of connection and aliveness into our daily experiences. Together, we will explore embodied practices and folk knowledge that participants can integrate into their daily lives, transforming the richly storied grounds that surround us into a source of abundant enchantment and the body into a site of knowledge and empowerment.
This Storied Grounds blog is meant to serve as a repository of reflections on my in-person events where we undertake these experiments in earthly belonging, as well as travelogues from my own adventures in which I chart my personal-ancestral connections to place and the biota I encounter along the way. Thank you for joining me as I explore these terrains!