What Might The Forest Say?

Learning to Hear What Science Cannot Measure

Not long ago, I spent my days as a scientist for a leading conservation organization. My work involved doing what scientists do—measuring things. For me, that meant placing GPS collars on deer to track their movements and learning where they go so we could protect those places. This important work continues today, and I’m grateful for it. I’m not here to diminish its value. Quite the opposite.

But my path took a curious turn. I left that work to explore the inner journey and help others do the same. More recently though, I have found myself drawn back to the forests—this time not as a scientist, but in a way that’s closer to the traditions of Druids and shamans. I have begun dreaming about learning to speak with the trees.

What I do in the forest now is not grounded in modern science. My priority has shifted: I seek to learn the language of the forest through deep listening and intuitive communication. To some, this may seem nonsensical or a waste of time.

And yet, I have a message for my friends in conservation. Many of you dedicate your work to preserving indigenous lands, as does the organization I once worked for, The Nature Conservancy. This commitment is explicitly part of their mission, and I am deeply grateful for the global recognition of its importance.

But if we truly wish to honor indigenous people, we must go further than protecting their lands. We must learn their ways, which is to say that we must begin to understand the language of nature. I don’t mean this metaphorically. This means opening ourselves to the possibility that nature itself—the planet, the universe—is alive, conscious, and capable of communicating with us. Indigenous cultures have always understood this. To honor their wisdom, we must become students of the natural world in ways that challenge our conventional thinking.

This is going to require an immense amount of trust because nothing about it makes sense to the logical Western mind.

I’m speaking from personal experience. This morning, I stood outside my house playing a crystal bowl to the trees. Every rational part of my mind questioned whether this was doing anything at all. My mind couldn’t make sense of it.

But my heart? My heart urges me forward like a patient elder, her hand outstretched, promising that if I keep climbing the mountain, the view will be worth it.

Trust doesn’t come from the mind—it comes from the heart. Trust is the resonance of the heart with a truth the mind may not yet grasp. A truth that may still live in the mind as a belief to be questioned.

Beliefs like:

Everything is conscious. Herbs can heal us—so too can sound and light. Humans can levitate and live on air. People can communicate with the dead. Angels and ghosts are real. Rocks can speak—so can rivers, mountains, trees, and animals. There are portals on Earth that can take us to other dimensions. Astrology, the ancient science of tracking how the movements of planets shape our destiny, is real. Extraterrestrials are real and visiting Earth. Unicorns, dragons, and faeries are real.

Which of these beliefs challenges you? Which makes you pause? It’s a curious thing to just lay various beliefs out on the table and examine where your edges lie. What does your heart say?

I’m not here to convince you of anything. My point is this: if we truly wish to honor indigenous wisdom, we must be willing to step beyond the confines of Western science and open ourselves to other ways of knowing.

For Druids, trees are sentient beings. In Peruvian shamanism, the spirits of mountains, rivers, and animals are guides ready to assist us if we know how to ask. These beliefs challenge the Western model of the universe, but look where that model has brought us.

If we make it into the next century, it’s because we will have moved beyond the limits of mind and into the wisdom of our hearts. To be honest enough to admit that we don’t have all the answers and wise enough to trust that the mysteries of the universe are far greater than we can imagine.

I, for one, am ready to listen to what indigenous wisdom and the natural world have to teach. I think we in the Western world owe them—at a bare minimum—that. And you?