Ed. note: This post is an excerpt from Earth & Soul, written by Leah Rampy and published by Bold Story Press. You can find out more about the book here.
It’s said that the ancient Celts of Ireland and Scotland used to travel to the edges of their home islands to seek wisdom and deeper connection. Edges—where sea, land, and sky meet—were considered sacred, thin places. When you stand at an edge, the division between heaven and earth, past and present, living and dead can blur, and a sense of oneness permeates time and place. In my work leading contemplative pilgrimages, I’ve been honored to travel to many places. Six times I’ve taken groups to the Scottish isle of Iona, where pilgrims have sought refuge and inspiration for several thousand years, soaking the earth with their prayers in this thin place where edges invite a sense of deep connection to the sacred.
Biologists and others who know the land tell us that edges are special for another reason. Where one ecosystem meets another—land meets sea, forest melds into fields, marsh runs to river—there arises an in-between place called an ecotone. An ecotone hosts a unique and hospitable environment where diverse flora and fauna can flourish on the edge of other systems. However, if human interference infringes on an ecotone, biodiversity diminishes, and ecotones become harsh and dangerous places.
Surely this example has much to teach us metaphorically and literally about mutual thriving in edge times. We are called to hear and respond to Earth’s cry, to understand our niche in supporting life. As members of the Earth family, we, too, have been bestowed with gifts that are needed during these times of unraveling and creating anew. We are here to live into our unique calling in this in-between time on the edge of increasing losses.
I am not the first to suggest that the crisis we face today is a spiritual one. Without attending to our own continued transformation, we cannot hope to align with the living world to create a tapestry of a beautiful future. Indeed, if we do not cultivate heart and soul, we may not even recognize our increasing disconnection to our cosmic home. As we embrace more fully the sacred mystery within, around, and beyond ourselves, we may sense a wordless communion. In this contemplative experience, we remember that we are one.
Contemplative experiences of heart and soul are difficult to articulate. As a retreat leader, I’ve noticed that the deeper an experience is for participants, the more they struggle to describe it. Their voice is often halting, the words come slowly, there is a drawing inward as the person searches for words that might illuminate their experience. Sometimes we are simply not ready for words; sometimes the experience will be beyond words.
Through the ages, mystics and sages have tried to define contemplation. Jesuit theologian Walter Burghardt described it as a “long, loving look at the real.” This description recalls a comment I once heard author Scott Russel Sanders make about times when “… we disappear into the seeing.” Without judgment, names, or labels, our senses perceive oneness with the sacred in everything. For many of us, the natural world is a doorway to deep mystery, unity, and communion. As we journey together, we’ll explore practices to support our availability for deep connection. Of course, contemplation may come unexpectedly and be seemingly independent of any practice we might have engaged; then all that is required of us is to receive this holy gift.
