The Road Back to Us

There was a time—not so long ago in the vast landscape of evolution—when human beings lived in tune with the breath of the earth. Our biology was shaped by the rising and setting of the sun, our nervous systems softened by the rustling of leaves and the scent of rain-soaked soil. We were designed to rise with the dawn, to move, to forage, to rest. Our cortisol levels synced with sunrise, melatonin drifted us gently to sleep with the setting sun. Our immune systems were born of dirt under our fingernails, our joy sparked by birdsong and breeze. We were creatures of place—rooted, embodied, and deeply connected.

But today for many, the cadence has changed. Most of us wake not with the light, but with an alarm. We sit for hours beneath fluorescent bulbs, clicking keys, responding to digital dings. Our feet rarely touch the ground, our eyes rarely rest on green. We work longer hours, sleep less, and feel perpetually overstimulated and undernourished. Our bodies know something is off, even when our minds haven’t caught up. We soothe with screens, with shopping, with caffeine, with anything that mimics connection - but isn’t quite it. Somewhere along the way, we’ve grown homesick, for a home we can’t quite remember.

A butterfly looking for the sky through a window pane

This disconnect didn’t happen overnight.

The Industrial Revolution shifted our entire relationship with time, place, and purpose. We moved from fields to factories, from rhythm to routine. The seasons no longer dictated the workday—clocks did. Artificial light expanded the day beyond what our bodies or minds were made to endure. Urban sprawl replaced forests. Concrete replaced soil. And with this dislocation came something deeper: a spiritual amnesia. We forgot how to be in the world as a part of it.

It was in response to this very forgetting that the Romantic movement arose in Europe. Artists, poets, and philosophers sensed the soul sickness of industrial life. William Blake wrote of a young boy whose “soul of sweet delight / Can never pass away,” even as “the walls of the workhouse closed around the boy.” Wordsworth and his contemporaries found salvation in the natural world, writing:"Come forth into the light of things,Let Nature be your teacher."In their creative fight against industrialisation they were calling us back to something ancient, something essential.

William Blake: The Mission of Virgil

And while we can’t go back - I don’t see many of us surviving for long in caves or particularly enjoying losing the many conveniences of modern life - I think it is time for bit of balance. To hold both. To live in the now, with all its innovation, and still seek intimacy with the earth. To work in offices and still walk barefoot on grass. To answer emails and still pause to watch the moon rise.

Many years ago now, I had the gift of apprenticing with a British shaman. What surprised me most was not the rituals or the fire circles - it was how deeply familiar it all felt. As if my bones remembered. As if the land itself had been waiting for me to listen again. Through plant medicine, grounding practices, and ceremony, I began to rebuild a relationship not just with nature - but with myself. I re-learned to speak tree. To read wind. To trust the quiet. And in that stillness, so much wisdom arrived.

Modern Science backs the impact of nature on our bodies and minds: time in nature lowers cortisol, stabilises mood, boosts immune function. A 20-minute walk in the woods can reduce stress hormones by nearly 20%. Forest bathing is now a prescription in parts of Japan. Even hospital patients recover faster when they can see trees from their window. The land heals, because we are made of it.

So what can we do?

Start simple. Swap one gym session for a walk in the park. Drink your morning coffee outside. Grow herbs on your windowsill. Take meetings while you walk. Watch the stars instead of Netflix, just once this week. Find your patch of wild—no matter how small—and return to it often. Let it know you.

Because the truth is, nature doesn’t just reconnect us to the world—it reconnects us to ourselves. Beneath the noise of the modern mind is a quiet knowing, a deep intuition. The more time we spend rooted in the natural world, the more clearly we hear it. That hunch. That gut instinct. That whisper of wisdom from somewhere older than thought. This isn’t about escape—it’s about return. It’s about remembering who we are.

This is the road back to us.