We are thoroughly trained to be ashamed of and avoid what mechanicalists call anthropomorphism; that is, the “projection” onto other life forms or even inanimate objects of human attributes. This dynamic, the accusation of anthropomorphism, has only one function: to shame and shut down any innate recognition of the livingness and intelligence of anything other than the human. It keeps people oriented toward the belief that the world is just a collection of resources there for our use, that humans are somehow exceptional, different, more valuable than the rest of the natural world.
To listen is to continually give up all expectation and to give our attention, completely and freshly, to what is before us, not really knowing what we will hear or what that will mean. In the practice of our days, to listen is to lean in, softly, with a willingness to be changed by what we hear.
To live within a sentient geography is to find oneself embedded in a rich and engaging terrain; a land that speaks. To our ancestors, and many indigenous cultures today, the landscape was another voice, a territory imbued with mystery and power. What this offered was another way to encounter the sacred and to enliven the imagination. This fertile exchange between place and psyche established a bond with the land, which, in turn, created an ethos of respect for the land. When the ground holds value, when it is the dwelling place of the spirits and the ancestors, when magic swirls through the canyons and across the plains, the relationship between the people and the land becomes sacramental.
Deep Earth Dreaming 