Organic is boring
Walking barefoot on concrete doesn't make you more connected....
Between the organic and the grass-fed, nestled by the pasture-raised and vegan-friendly, small shopping baskets are being carefully filled by modelesque women and men.
Draped in tight gym wear or "crunchy" bohemian outfits, they stroll up and down the long aisles of the organic store, treading carefully, often watching their carbon footprint with no more than Birkenstocks or bare feet.
A $347 basket is brought to the front counter and awkwardly placed before a young cashier, hormonally imbalanced, yet smiling brightly. She asks how your day is going and, almost like a highway robber, casually announces the total bill in punching just under 400 bucks. It’s almost as if she is selling me a cheap coaching package with the typical catchphrase “How does that land for you?”
These beautiful men and women lug their groceries in paper bags, their bare feet or Birkenstocks carrying them past the smoothie bar, where cacao can now be blended with grass-fed bone broth.
In an effort to convey some semblance of connection, a stance, or a status, these barefoot shoppers swipe their plastic cards. But has anyone paused to consider that walking barefoot on concrete may be the least connected one can be to the earth?
It seems that in our quest to be “more organic” and “more connected” to Mother Earth, we have paradoxically created even greater division. We’ve reduced our connection to the natural world to what can fit in a wicker basket or a biodegradable cup. The idea of organic food and grass-fed living is beautiful and necessary for our planet, but when do we truly pause for a moment of gratitude?
When do we offer a prayer for the foods we eat—a simple prayer of thanks? Gratitude doesn’t have to be grand; it could take the form of planting our own food or fostering a spiritual connection to the plants and animals that sustain us.
Right beside the smoothie bar, an overcrowded notice board looms. Between the whir of blenders churning banana-coconut-yogurt smoothies and baristas calling out names like “Tree” or “Trinity,” you’ll find an explosion of advertised “stuff”: 5D breath-work, cacao ceremonies, dragon code crystal downloads. And yet, there isn’t a single pamphlet about connecting to country, indigenous knowledge, or growing your own food. If such information exists, it’s likely buried behind flyers of awkward looking local shamans.
How is it that, in this search for connection, we have perpetuated our separation from nature? We are never truly separate from her—she is us. And yet, the separation inside our own minds has taken shape as expensive organic baskets and curated lifestyles. We think that consuming more organic products brings us closer to the land. But when was the last time we slept under the stars? Or even stepped outside at night to look at them?
Organic living has become a competition. Spiritualism has become a competition. And it’s boring.
Yes, we want clean food and water for everyone on this planet. That is a given. But organic living shouldn’t be only accessible to a small minority it needs to be available to everyone. This is where self responsibility comes into play the responsibility to cut out time to study and practises the art of growing your own food. To plant seeds of good intention and abundance that would link us back up to our ancestral ways. They certainly weren’t in an organic competition. Bartering with neighbours and communal living was more the theme of that era.
Mother Nature asks only to be honoured, protected, and loved. She seeks our respect and care—always. Yet, she demands nothing in return.
While we are busy trying to "be someone," life keeps moving. Nature endures. The trees don’t stop growing; their leaves continue to rustle in the wind. The breeze flows, the rivers run, and the sun, moon, and stars persist in their celestial dance, circling our existence. The animal kingdoms live in supreme consciousness, harmonising with their ecosystems. Birds continue to fly and migrate, opening tree seed pods, eating fruits, and germinating life. Bees pollinate flowers, gifting us the sweet nectar of life—honey. The animals—the deer, elk, buffalo, kangaroo, emu—all reveal themselves in sacrifice, offering their flesh to sustain us, as do the creatures we have domesticated. Nature gives endlessly, yet asks for so little in return.
And yet, amid her abundance, we forget. We rush, we consume, and we strive to build identities, distracted from the great truth that we, too, are part of this enduring rhythm. Nature is not separate from us; she is us. She moves, breathes, and exists as a mirror, reminding us that life is not about becoming but about being—a quiet return to balance, to harmony, to the sacred flow of existence.
Listen and remember. Life moves, and so must we—with intention, gratitude, and reverence for the endless generosity that surrounds us.
Start giving back….
We need to step outside our comfort zones. Go out into the country, to the real organic store. Feed our spirit before we feed our body. Light a fire. Sit by a river and maybe jump in that river. Cook meat over the coals. Look up at the stars. Stay up all night. Walk barefoot in the bush. Drink from a stream. Shade yourself under a tree at midday. Rise before sunrise. Dance. Sing. Eat plants. Pray…
This is what life wants from us—to connect. This is organic living: the experience and expression of love through our constant immersion into our great mother.
You won’t find it in your local organic store….
Great writing and teaching 🌵
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