There are places where our planet’s pulse points can still be felt, tapped into, and heard. Where the waters wash away the encrustations of eight thousand years of “culture” and restore us to ourselves. Where the arterial flow of the natural meridians beneath the land itself not only mend the mind, but heal the body and cleanse the spirit.
In forgetting the ancient languages of our ancestral lands, we’ve forgotten more than the seasons and cycles of which we ourselves are made: we’ve forgotten how to speak – and listen – to the language of the heart.
What we need is a “place in space” to rediscover these treasures: a refuge, a habitat, for those who seek to reinhabit. For as the deep ecologist and Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Gary Snyder has written,
“[e]veryone on Earth is a native of this planet but there are many people…now who are not ‘inhabitants.’”
Nor are those non-inhabitants aware that “who we are and where we are are intimately linked.” TREI is just such a place that connects us to the where of who we are – a natural counterpoint to a new directionless generation, deaf to the very rhythms from which they come.
We exist as an organization both in and out of the world – where the transformative power of the land itself awakens in you the elemental potency of personal change in the service of something greater. Ecological awareness, naturally cultivated on the living land, is the birthplace of boddicitta itself – the awakened heart of compassion – including compassion for nonhuman nature.
We are circadian beings, rising with the sun and setting with the moon. But we are also sidereal beings, whose warp and weft are wrought of far more stars than the one we worship that lies at the center of our solar system. So suspend your atomic clock and slip into a sacred space that has yet to be ravaged by the Sixth Extinction, where time is measured in moments, not minutes, if indeed it is measured at all. Where the council of beings includes all forms of life, and where that “optical delusion of consciousness” that we are somehow separate from what scientists now identify as “the environment” (something, somehow, outside of us) is defused as the most insidious delusion of all. For the call of the wild is real, but it’s not what you think it is. Yes, you hear it in the mad parliament of cicadas every seventeen years, in the whispering willows and siren songs of subterranean watersheds, but the real call of the wild is within. It is in the tides and tempests of your own blood. The time has come. Answer it.