Nature’s Way is a regular column by Envisage writer Taylor Bourassa, exploring eco-art therapy techniques to incorporate into therapeutic practices, and invites us to practice ways of interacting with, befriending, and enhancing our relationship with the earth.

Taylor Bourassa is a Registered Psychotherapist (Qualifying) and art therapist with a private practice, Wellness Grove Therapy. She incorporates the environment into her practice through the use of natural materials, meditative practices that centre the earth, inviting the natural environment into sessions as a co-facilitator, and sharing the primordial knowledge the earth provides.

There are some places in our lives that have become so meaningful and tethered to our very essence, it feels life threatening to think about leaving them. Parts of who we are and how we understand ourselves and our presence on this planet are held and mirrored back to us in these places. I think of the extreme primordial connection I felt on Tara, in Ireland, which moved me to tears – it felt like I had been there before in every iteration of my life. Or, stepping into the Basilique St. Sernin in Toulouse and feeling such spiritual enlightenment and transcendence in the profound silence all I could do was keen internally. In distant lands, removed from places I have known my whole life, I found pieces of myself, my story, my spiritual energy. This was four years ago, and these moments still rest at the forefront of my mind. I yearn to go back, settle in, and breathe the magnetic air of magic and curiosity until my lungs are full to the brim and I return to stardust.

Upon reflection, I never had the chance to acknowledge the felt connection between myself and these places, nor to honour them with my gratitude. I wonder how many more places in my life I have left this way–with the indelible mark of the place imprinted on my heart but no imprint of mine on theirs. The backyard where I played amateur naturalist for years, discovering fossils and tracking the frog population; Wasaga beach and the feeling that I could fly in the presence of my family; the canopy of willows in the Arboretum where I felt a peace I never knew existed; the Quad at Carleton University, buzzing with excitement, potential and nervous expectation as strangers toss frisbees at friends. These are the places that have shaped me. I recognize their imprint on my life, but have I truly let them know of their significance?

I spent the late summer re-visiting places of home and safety that were most accessible to me. I re-introduced myself to the space with new, fresh eyes as I explored the colours, shapes, flora and fauna, the trees and animals. What called out to me now? What was it like as a child, teen, young adult to be in these places? What emotions, thoughts, and memories rose to the surface as I breathed in the daffodil on the wind? What did I discover about myself, the universe, and our relationship to each other? How does this experience now differ from when I first met this place? Or is my experience of this place so coloured by my first, second, third encounter that it is hard to untangle?

This is what I mean when I talk about the threads of our lives tethering us to physical places. Can we untangle them or are they woven into the fabric of ourselves?

As I familiarized myself with these spaces, I circled the grounds, finding flowers, weeds, and nuts to gather. With each new addition came a new recognition of thanks, appreciation, and awe.

“Thank you for your supportive, shaded tree which gave me space to study.”

“Thank you for the sense of connection and participation as I witnessed friends and strangers meet to play frisbee before class.” 

“Thank you for that warm, calm, excited feeling in my heart the first day of school, as I walked through you to get to the other side of campus.” 

I gathered my thanks and turned them into an embodied sign of appreciation: a bouquet of naturally occurring materials found in this space where my thanks were born. I laid them down at the base of a tree, and expressed one final time “thank you,” before leaving and knowing I had a home to return to.

You see, these places are alive – whether with magic, awe, inspiration or simply with the same energetic fire of ourselves and the universe. They are alive and feel the same energetic exchange of presence, awe, and gratitude as we do. It not only feels good for us to express our gratitude, but I believe these spaces feel appreciation for the expression. How else do we account for the trees shading flowers from the sun, or sharing resource through their roots? They understand and feel relationality as much as we do. Take your time as autumn turns into winter and another year nears its end: gather your bouquets of gratitude and lay them down with thanks.