The earth is languishing for more contemplatives. We have not even been courteous to her, much less respectful. We have never sincerely asked forgiveness for our massive exploitation of her. We have failed to see that she is numinous and to treat her with proper deference as our mother. It is time now for the child to mother the mother. Nothing less than a mysticism that can perceive the diaphany of the divine at the heart of matter itself is capable of experiencing mystical union with nature. Even if we have not had a vivid mystical experience, we can learn in prayer to meditate on what the union could imply.
To pray is not to use special language; it is the sound of a cry or a laugh rising from ordinary days. Formal or official words can often be lifeless. To pray we need to return like children to an elemental language of soul, to something close to song, to chant, to playground singing.