Coming Home to Our Enchanted World
How the breeze, the cicadas, and the soil remind us we belong
Sometimes when I step outside during the summer here in North Alabama, the air feels thick and heavy, and I don’t mean spiritually. The humidity has turned the outdoors into one big sauna. Step outside for a few minutes and you are wrapped in hot and damp air like you have wandered into nature’s steam room.
By late afternoon, the cicadas start tuning up. We call them July flies, though some folks swear they are June bugs. Their buzzing rises and falls in waves, as if the trees themselves are breathing. And in those moments, sauna air and all, I remember that the world around me is alive.
I’ve noticed how much my body longs for this kind of remembering. Sometimes it takes a shift in the air, the press of heavy humidity or the hint of a cooler breeze, to call me back to myself and to the living world I belong to.
In recent weeks we have been exploring what it means to come home to our bodies, to notice what we carry, and how we can let the soft animal of our body be loved. That invitation does not stop with our own skin. The next step is opening again to the living world that surrounds us, a world as sensuous and sacred as our breath.
(If you missed the earlier reflections in this series, you can find them here: What Does It Mean to Come Home to Your Body, The Poop We Hold, and Are You a Hugger?.)
The Sensuous as a Way Back
What if this longing for remembering is not a flaw, but an invitation?
Philosopher David Abram, in his beautiful book The Spell of the Sensuous, reminds us that our body is not a machine. It is a participant in the dance of life. Our senses are not obstacles we must overcome. They are doorways into communion.
For much of Western history we were taught to mistrust our senses. Under the influence of thinkers like Plato, many of us were taught to see the physical world as less real than some invisible spiritual one. But what if the opposite is true? What if the very textures, tastes, and sounds of this earth are the language through which Spirit speaks?
(If you would like to explore more about how Plato’s ideas shaped theology, and how voices such as Richard Rohr invite us beyond that, you can read a deeper reflection I have written Why We’ve Distrusted Our Bodies.)
The More Than Human World
David Abram uses a phrase I love: the more than human world. He invites us to notice that the living earth, the trees, stones, rivers, and the animals are not a backdrop to human life but a community we belong to.
Think of the last time you felt the breeze shift while walking, or paused to notice the sounds around you: the rustle of leaves, the hum of cicadas, the laughter of children playing outside, or even the rhythm of traffic moving through the streets. These are not random occurrences. They are invitations to remember that we are not alone, that our body belongs to a wider body, a living, breathing earth.
John’s Gospel begins with a mystery: “In the beginning was the Word… and through the Word all things came into being… and the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” We often hear this as something that happened once, two thousand years ago. But, mystics such as Richard Rohr remind us that the Word continues to become visible, not only through Jesus but through the whole of creation.
The same Spirit that animates our lungs is pulsing in the trees outside, shimmering in the rivers, and flowing through the soil beneath your feet. To come home to this world is to recognize that every step we take is on holy ground.
Practices for Re‑Enchantment
You don’t need a monastery or a pilgrimage to begin. Here are some simple invitations you can try today:
Step outside and pause. Let the air touch your skin. Notice its texture, whether heavy with humidity or lighter with a breeze. Feel how your body responds.
Listen to the living world. Close your eyes for a moment and notice the sounds around you. Maybe it is cicadas, birds, or leaves moving in the wind. Maybe it is children playing outside, footsteps on the sidewalk, or the hum of traffic. Receive these sounds as part of the larger conversation of life that you belong to.
Touch what is near. Place your hand on a tree trunk, a stone, or the soil. Or maybe touch a plant on your windowsill, the wood of a porch railing, or even the wall beside you. Notice its temperature and texture. Take a few breaths as if you and what you are touching are breathing together.
These are not exercises to achieve a result. They are ways of remembering and stepping back into the living conversation that is always happening around us.
Coming Home Together
As I sit here today, the air carries a different tone. A cooler, drier weather system moved in overnight, and now, sitting on the porch with this gentler air moving through I am reminded how even the smallest shifts in weather can wake us up to gratitude, to presence, and to the sense of being carried by something larger than ourselves.
The shift in the air opens me to the truth that the Spirit who meets me in my own breath is the same Spirit moving quietly through every change of season and every pulse of life around us.
Coming home to our body teaches us that we are not broken. Coming home to this world teaches us that we are not alone.
I hope we all allow ourselves to be touched by the breeze, by the soil, by the song of the July flies. May we come home not only to our body, but to a living, breathing world that has been waiting for us all along.
Your Turn
💬 I would love to hear how you connect with the world around you. Is there a place, a sound, or a moment in nature that helps you remember you belong? Share in the comments.
Keith Rowe is a breathworker, teacher, and founder of Vital Healing, a nonprofit where he helps people reconnect to the wisdom of the body and transform through breathwork, shadow work, somatic practice, and spiritual clarity.
He is co-creator of the upcoming Walking Pilgrim app, a 33-day journey of mindful walking and presence. Sign up to receive updates for when it is released at walkingpilgrim.com.