The Returning: The Way of the Naturalist

For the Naturalist, creation itself is the sanctuary. The forest becomes the temple, the tide becomes the hymn, and the rustling leaves become the voice of God. It’s not that nature points to God — it’s that nature reveals God. Every living thing becomes a verse in an unending psalm.

The Cathedral of Creation

To walk this pathway is to remember that we were made from the dust of the earth, that our first breath was shared with the wind, that we belong to this vast and living body of God. The Naturalist does not need stained glass to glimpse the Divine; sunlight filtering through branches will do. They don’t need a sermon to hear truth; the whisper of water over stone is enough. For them, wonder is worship. Awe is prayer.

In the words of St. Francis of Assisi, “All the creatures under heaven serve, know, and obey their Creator, each according to its own nature better than you.” The Naturalist listens for this wisdom — the sermon preached by bees, the prophecy of the mountains, the hymn of the river.

“The Fawn” by Mary Oliver

“Sunday morning and mellow as precious metal
The church bells rang, but I went
To the woods instead.

A fawn, too new
For fear, rose from the grass
And stood with its spots blazing,
And knowing no way but words,
No trick but music,
I sang to him.

He listened.
His small hooves struck the grass.
Oh what is holiness?

The fawn came closer,
Walked to my hands, to my knees.

I did not touch him.
I only sang, and when the doe came back
Calling out to him dolefully
And he turned and followed her into the trees,
Still I sang,
Not knowing how to end such a joyful text,

Until far off the bells once more tipped and tumbled
And rang through the morning, announcing
The going forth of the blessed.”

The Nondual Lens: One Life, Many Forms

To see through the eyes of the Naturalist is to awaken to nonduality — the truth that there is no separation between Creator and creation, between sacred and soil. The Divine is not confined to the heavens but is embodied in the hum of the earth itself.

As the mystics say, God is both the light in the sky and the eyes that see it. Both the breeze and the breath that feels it; the whisper and the one who listens. This is the great remembering — that to tend the earth is to tend the heart of God, and to be still in the forest is to return to our original communion.

Reclaiming Embodied Wonder

Many of us have inherited a disembodied faith — one that taught us to look up but not within, to seek the holy beyond rather than beneath our feet. But the Naturalist invites us back into belonging. Back into the body. Back into the web of aliveness that has always been our home.

In the hush of the woods, theology becomes tactile again. We remember that God’s first language was creation itself — that before there were creeds, there were rivers; before there was scripture, there was starlight.

Reflection Questions

1. Where in nature do you feel most at home in God’s Presence?

2. How might you weave creation into your daily rhythm of prayer or rest?

3. What might the natural world be teaching you about the nature of God right now?

Suggested Practice: A Prayer Walk

Set aside time this week to walk slowly and silently outdoors — through a park, a garden, a forest, or even your own neighborhood. Leave your phone behind. As you walk, breathe deeply.

Notice what draws your attention — a bird’s call, the warmth of sunlight, the coolness of shadow. Each time you notice beauty, whisper a simple prayer:

“You, Lord, are here.”

Let this awareness expand until every sound and scent becomes sacrament, and you realize that it was never you walking through the world, but God walking in you.

Founder's Note:

At Loto Wellness Collective, this pathway runs deep in our roots. I've always felt closest to God beneath open skies — praying beside waterfalls, listening for the Spirit in the wind that moves through the aspens, and creating spaces where others can encounter that same Presence in nature.

From our immersive retreat experiences to our sacred gatherings at Forest Church, every encounter is designed to help you return to your natural communion with God — through stillness, sensory awareness, and the wisdom of creation itself.

If your soul stirs at the sound of running water, if the shimmer of leaves has ever felt like prayer, we invite you to join me. Step into the forest. Sit beside the fire. Come and listen for the Holy in the hush of the earth.

With Love, unconditionally— Jennifer

Next in The Great Returning:

For some, the doorway into divine Presence opens not through forest or flame, but through the senses themselves. In the next post, we’ll explore The Way of the Sensate — where touch, taste, scent, sound, and sight become pathways into the Presence that pervades all things.

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