Nature is Conscious

Ten years ago, I wrote a blog post about the consciousness of trees, of how I sat traffic lights, waiting for the green, when a tree in the bushland beside the road caught my attention. I wrote about feeling its life force, and to this day I recall the shift in perception I experienced at the time.

This morning, something similar occurred as I was returning from a walk to the beach.

The path winds through bushland, much of it overrun by weeds, but still home to fine stands of native trees which echo to the calls of chattering wrens, wattlebirds, whipbirds, black cockatoos, and crested doves. Brush turkeys forage in the leaf litter, and lizards scuttle across the track, glancing with dinosaur eyes at the biped intruder.

I stopped briefly to scan the foliage for the source of a bird call I didn’t recognize and, as I did, I felt, rather than observed, a change in the scene before me. The trees and bushes were motionless, only the treetops disturbed by the ocean breeze; yet the scene hummed with energy. My gaze roved from shrub to tree, from native to weed, and each possessed its own brand of consciousness. I was captivated. It felt as though each manifested a specific personality derived from its growth habit and foliage type, its nutritional needs and relationship to the guild of plants of which it was a part.

I stood for a while, immersed in the novelty of this new awareness. I have long believed that the entire universe is conscious and vibrating at a range of frequencies, some of which we are aware, others which only reveal themselves if we cultivate stillness in our own being.

Paradox!

That in calming our own energy, we become aware of the dance of energy of other organisms.

As I write, I am sitting on the verandah, looking at the plants in my garden, summoning the experience again as I seek understanding. It seems to me that the large eucalyptus and melaleuca trees vibrate at a slower, more stately frequency. Perhaps the journey of water and nutrients creates a more ponderous energy, as they mount slowly towards the crown,. And yet, the trees seem to laugh, delighting in the warmth of the sun.

The large gardenia which lives in a terracotta pot in the corner of the veranda, dances with ebullient vitality. The Christmas cactus, despite its vivid blossoms, feels staid and somnolent, while the vinca and viola seem to sparkle like fairy dust.

I view everything around me: the cul-de-sac in which my house is situated, the other houses around me, the grass and the trees – all solid, yet all simply collections of energy particles, ever changing, ever degrading and renewing in different forms.

Imagination? Possibly. I am a writer, after all. Yet these fellow beings possess their own energy fields, and perhaps it only requires an open mind and focused powers of observation to detect their diverse natures.