had views of other buildings.
Simply looking at pictures of nature can also have a positive impact, changing a person’s value system in the moments afterwards. In one study, a group of participants viewed buildings, roads, and other cityscapes, while the other group observed landscapes, lakes, and deserts. Participants afterwards took a questionnaire assessing the importance of four life aspirations: “to be financially successful,” “to be admired by many people,” “to have deep enduring relationships,” and “to work toward the betterment of society.” The group examining the nature scenes showed an increase in valuing connections and community, while those observing the man-made environments preferred wealth and fame. In another test, those observing the nature scenes were more likely to share money won from a game than were those who viewed the man-made scenes. The researchers speculated that viewing nature helped each participant connect with his or her “authentic self,” whereas the man-made scenes reminded participants of the stresses of modern life.
Cayce would agree with these researchers that nature reflects our “authentic self”—our god-like self—more so than do buildings. It is worth exploring how that reflection process might operate. Modern brain research has discovered what scientists now call “mirror cells” in the brain that automatically function to stimulate an unconscious mimicry of the visual information the brain is processing. Updating in modern brain technology an old concept of “feeling into” or empathy, researchers now believe that there is a built-in mechanism within the brain for mimicry as a means of understanding. It’s as if the mirror cells build upon an old kindergarten truism: “It takes one to know one.” It’s as if the brain works on the principle. “To know something, become it.” That’s certainly a variation on using imaginative role-playing to become like whatever you wish to understand. Edgar Cayce calls it “attunement.” When we make an “attunement” to something we go through a subtle process of mimicry, of imagining that we are like that something or that quality of something.
There are a number of ways of intentionally creating attunement with nature. Research with students of the Cayce material has demonstrated the value of that attunement, and we’ll describe some of them here.
Meditation in nature would seem obvious. Letting the mind rest upon an ideal such as “harmony,” which is certainly one attribute of nature, would bring the meditator in attunement with a harmonic pattern of the creative forces circulating within the meditator’s own body. It would also place the meditator in attunement with the harmonic relations among the living beings in nature. Meditating in nature seems like such a natural thing to do, no explanation is really needed, yet it is good to remind ourselves of the role of ideals and attunement in even the most natural of the methods of communion.
A practice similar to meditation but with more of a focus on gaining insight or inspiration from one’s communion with nature begins again with attunement. First consider this general recommendation Cayce once made that suggests various details of a total attunement process: As you walk in nature, listen to the sounds you hear. Imitate these sounds aloud. Gradually cease the outward sounding, but continue imitating the sounds mentally in silence. Imitating the sounds in silence directs your attention more inwardly. Cayce made the surprising assertion that this practice—meditating on your own silent imitation of the sounds in nature—would develop your receptivity to inwardly hearing the “song of the spheres,” which is the auditory version of the creative or unseen forces guiding the physical world. Cayce suggested that a high degree of imitation of nature would help facilitate attunement with it and allow an individual to realize deeper experiences of communion. When we apply this idea, we get some very interesting results.
Suppose a person wished to explore the possibility of gaining insight or inspiration from some aspect of nature, such as a tree. Let’s describe in detail the process implied in Cayce’s suggestions. First, find a tree that attracts you, and become that tree in your imagination. Begin by approaching that tree respectfully—approaching it as a living being puts you into the proper frame of mind. Acknowledge that it is expressing its creative nature with no reservations. Thank it for being willing to share its secrets with you openly. Wouldn’t you be more willing to share with someone who approaches you respectfully than one who demands your attention? The Golden Rule applies here, too.
Botanical research has demonstrated that plants have ways of communicating with each other, and indigenous peoples claim that plants talk to them. Prominent American botanist Luther Burbank declared that the way he was able to get plants to grow new features was by his loving communication with them. Edgar Cayce, an avid gardener, also believed that our attitude around plants had an effect on them. He also stated that vegetables grown by a grouchy gardener are hard on our digestion. Better, he said, that the gardener tell jokes in the garden, even if they were dirty jokes, than to grumble and grouse!
Approach the tree with the respect you’d show a learned elder if you were hoping to receive kind and helpful advice. Stand in front of the tree and begin to imagine what it is like to be that tree. Imagine the roots, deep underground, and then the tree itself rising from the earth and growing into the multiple branches upward and outward. Imagine growing leaves. Imagine being a new little leaf, reddish purple in color and changing to green as it matures. Imagine growing a blossom that turns into a fruit. Feel what it is like to draw nutrients from the ground, from the air, and from the sun.
Make your pretending active. As you imagine being the tree, allow your images to work themselves into your body. Mimic the feeling of the tree in the position and movements of your body. Empathize with the creative miracle of the tree; spread your feet apart, feeling the earth feed you. Spread your arms out like branches and feel energy rise up through your feet and out through your outstretched hands. Let your hands circulate in the breeze and your fingers play with sunbeams. Your body, as a tree, moves to the cycle of life—relaxing and dropping leaves in the fall, shrinking during winter, and then experiencing sparks of new life in the spring. As summer brings greater warmth, your leaves radiate, blossoms bloom with wonderful aromas, and your fruit ripens.
As you join your tree in a dance, allow your mood to express itself in sound. Sing the tree’s song. It’s a matter of improvising in sound to the attunement you feel with the tree. Begin with a quiet hum, as you feel the nutrients rising up your trunk and branches. Begin making an “ahhh” sound as the leaves dance in the sunlight. As you imagine beginning to blossom, a smile may accompany the sounds of “ahhh.” Give yourself over to the spirit of life flowing in the tree, and express that life in your own way—openly, fully. It’s a feeling of quiet exuberance, yet charged with energy.
Now sit quietly with your tree. Just be there with it in the experience of your communion. As you do so, recall the purpose for your visit to the tree. Was there a concern? A question? Listen now, and you will feel, or hear, or otherwise sense the tree’s response. It may come as thoughts you find yourself thinking, memories you find yourself exploring, or a daydream that takes you on a journey of discovery. Don’t be surprised if you hear the tree talking!
When Judith tried this experiment, she was concerned about some of her personal failings. She shared with the tree her sense of frustrations over her lack of perfection. She found the tree responding to her notion of perfection. After she had made her attunement, she sat with her back against the tree and rested. Soon she was involved in a Disneyesque type of daydream in which the tree had a face and talked to her. The tree pointed out several places where events had wounded the tree in various ways. The tree showed her where it had continued to grow through these wounds, healing them and moving onward. Although there were scars, they formed part of the natural beauty of the tree. More importantly, the tree showed her how both it and she were still full of creative juices. She saw that she, too, was still growing forward, and her wounding experiences were adding to her wisdom. She was still “perfect” but in a way she had not seen before, because she had based her opinion of perfection upon her expectations and external measures rather than upon the spiritual essence of her being. The tree set her straight.
Talking to trees,
