Human or More-Than-Human, We All Just Want to Be Seen

I had another magical encounter in the woods, but before sharing that, let me acknowledge that it’s been a minute (or roughly 120,960 of them for those who are counting) since I last sent something out. A good friend who noticed this wondered if something was wrong, but the truth is, it’s actually because something is right…

I’ve started writing my next novel. 😊 😊 😊

I first got the idea for it several years back but was busy editing and publishing This Animal Body. After that finally came out, I began planning the new one in earnest, but it’s an epic fantasy (my favorite genre since I was a kid but one I’ve never written in), and it needed a lot of world-building in addition to the usual development of characters and plot. The planning took over a year, and I worried that it would never be ready, or that after all that time I wouldn’t remember how to write a novel.

The good news? It got ready, I do remember, and it’s been really fun. Like, undeniably delightful. So much so, it’s pretty much all I want to do.

The bad news? That means fewer posts for now. (Perhaps that’s good news as well for many, given how oversaturated we all are with incoming information. I know I’m ambivalent about newsletters, even the ones I enjoy.)

All that said, I will write when I have something to say, and I had an experience last week that was so amazing I have to share it.

It started when I set an intention for my daily walk through the nature preserve near my house. I’ve been taking a class on reclaiming intuition, and I wanted to practice the deep listening we’d talked about in the class.

My intention was to be open and receptive so I could receive whatever wanted to be known.

As I walked the main road by the lake, I listened—with my ears, my mind, and my entire body (gratitude to Sarah Fontaine for that concept). Almost as soon as I stepped off the road and onto a trail that climbs through the woods, I began to see bucks big and small—all recent arrivals to the preserve—chasing the does, the area’s usual residents, up and down the hillsides.

Deer mating season had started in earnest the week before, and the energy was running high—so high I felt my legs accelerate of their own accord and hasten up the trail.

It was exciting to witness the chases, and I decided to use the energy to visit the tracking spot I frequent. Just as the muddy flats came into view, a movement ahead caught my eye. I looked up in time to see a furry coyote butt with a bushy tail trotting away from me.

This tracking spot was where I found coyote pup prints earlier this year, so I thanked my lucky stars for the glimpse I had just gotten of what was possibly one of the mostly-grown pups or their parents.

Filled with gratitude and reminding myself to be receptive, I made my way up over the ridge and down through the thick trees on the other side. Midway down the hill, another cute coyote butt came into view.

I froze in disbelief as the coyote paused, plopped over, and stretched out on the ground about fifty feet in front of me.

For the record, I rarely see coyotes on my wanders. I’ve only seen five in the six years I’ve been going to this preserve, and here I’d already seen two, one of whom laid down right in front of me.

I was flabbergasted, but then had to immediately revise my assessment because I couldn’t figure out how the napping coyote was oriented in the patch of sunlight. I realized it was because there were two creatures napping, so in one day I’d seen three coyotes, two of whom laid down right in front of me.

At one point one of the coyotes raised his head and turned toward me. He stared at me for a moment but didn’t get up or move away like every other coyote I’ve ever met has done as soon as they became aware of my presence. Instead, he just laid his head back down and napped some more.

Eventually, the two coyotes got up and began exploring the area, going to investigate what some birds were alarming about, jumping up on logs, and generally checking things out. They looked at me again but still didn’t run off. As I watched them and admired their playful antics and full, beautiful coats, deer chased each other back and forth in the background.

It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Pure magic.

Eventually, the coyotes trotted off, the deer ran into another corner of the woods, and I made my way home, remembering the intention I’d set—to receive what wanted to be known.

There’s truth to the cliché that knowledge is power, and we humans have, as a species, proved ourselves capable of being unbelievably uncaring and cruel in using this power to dominate others. Other animals have learned this and mostly stay hidden as a result.

But I’m starting to realize that they, like us, still want to be seen.

One of my tracking buddies, Susie Osler, reminded me recently that seeing and being seen is a universal need we all have that’s key to feeling a sense of belonging. As someone who’s often felt like I don’t belong, I have a strong longing to be seen. I’ve also witnessed this desire to be acknowledged, appreciated, and valued exactly as they are in almost everyone I’ve met, so I’ve long recognized its importance.

What I didn’t recognize, given all we’ve done and continue to do to them, is that the more-than-human beings of this world might still want us to know them.

More and more, my interactions with wildlife suggest that they do.

The more I practice receptivity—by tuning into my senses, softening my body and gaze, or simply returning to the intention—I become aware of countless beings: coyotes, deer, crickets, aphids, streams, boulders, wind through the trees. Each has their own unique energy, purpose, and music that life sings through them.

Getting to know these beautiful beings is a gift twice over because seeing and being seen is one of those cords of connection that runs both ways. I get to feel their goodness in my own heart, and have my goodness recognized by them when they allow themselves to be seen.

When the coyotes noticed me but didn’t run, I felt witnessed, welcomed into their world, and as honored as when someone shares a profound and vulnerable truth with you.

This kind of deep, mutual beholding is one of the most healing forces I know of, both for the seer and the one being seen.

It makes me wonder if all we need to heal the deepest wounds of the world is to know and be known by each other, human and more-than-human alike.

My other tracking buddy, Sam Devine-Turner, pointed out that there was a time when humans lived in more harmony with the earth and its inhabitants, when such deep knowing of each other would have been common and natural, when the joy, connection, and healing it entails would have been a daily occurrence. It’s a tantalizing possibility for the future as well.

Which also makes me wonder:

Who and what else might want to be known?
What beauty and mysteries might reveal themselves to us if we learn to walk in the world in a way that welcomes them?
How might that radically transform us, our world, and the possibilities for our future?

I, for one, can’t wait to find out.