Answering the Call: Tropical Sacred Plant Medicine
Rewilding the Body & Remembering Our Connection to the Earth
“When we attune to the forest, the body becomes a mirror of its wisdom, and consciousness expands into the web of life, bioweaving our awareness into the intelligence of the living world.”
From the earliest memories of my childhood, I have been drawn to the tropics. There was something in the way the air felt heavy with life, in the way the sun fell through dense green leaves, that spoke to a part of me I did not yet understand. Even before I could articulate it, I sensed that the forests and rivers, the vibrant growth, and the persistent hum of living things were a mirror for something I had forgotten within myself. Over the past thirty years, that pull has guided the trajectory of my life. It brought me to the tropics, again and again, as someone listening to a quiet summons from the Earth herself.
When I arrived in Costa Rica, I quickly realized that being in the tropics was only the beginning. The first words I spoke out loud as I stepped off the plane and walked down the stairs onto the tarmac were, “I’m home.” To truly understand the pulse of this land, I needed to live among it, to breathe it, to walk its trails with patience and humility. I spent long days moving slowly through lush forests, watching the subtle ways light and shadow danced, observing the rhythm of rain, river, and wind. Nights were alive with sounds that required me to quiet my own thoughts just to hear. In these moments, I began to notice how the world around me was not separate from my own inner landscape. The tropics have a way of reflecting what is hidden, what has been pushed aside, and what is waiting to be remembered.
Sacred Plant Medicine: A Conversation with Life
"The intelligence of the Earth and plants flows through me when I learn to listen with my body and my senses, bioweaving their awareness with mine."
For me, sacred plant medicine is alive and conscious in ways that I am still learning to understand. These are plants that carry intelligence, memory, and a form of awareness that interacts with us when we slow down and pay attention. They are not medicines in the conventional sense of curing or fixing. Instead, they are allies, companions, and teachers who guide us back to our own body, our own senses, and our connection to the Earth. Their guidance comes through presence, sensation, and experience rather than through words or instruction.
Being with these plants asks me to inhabit my body fully and to pay attention with all of my senses. I feel the shift of light through the canopy, the sound of wind in the leaves, the subtle vibrations in the soil, and the warmth of the sun on my skin. Over time, I have come to understand that sacred plant medicines are mirrors, reflecting the intelligence of the world around me and the intelligence within me. They do not give answers; they open doors. They do not instruct; they invite. Sometimes I sit for long stretches and feel nothing at first, and then gradually I become aware of currents of presence and connection that I had forgotten were possible. They remind me that my body, my breath, and my awareness are part of a larger web of life, bioweaving my consciousness into the ongoing intelligence of nature. They call me home to myself, to the awareness that has always been alive and waiting within me, to the pulse of life flowing through all things.
A plant that is not a sacred plant medicine is one approached only for effect, convenience, or novelty, without presence, attention, or relationship. Treated as a commodity or tool, it may provide stimulation or temporary benefit, but it does not invite reflection, awareness, or connection, nor guide the body, mind, or spirit. True sacred plant medicines are not defined by chemistry, market value, or transactional use. They demand respect, patience, and participation, calling us to slow down, inhabit our senses, and remember our deep interconnection with the living world, bioweaving our awareness with theirs.
Apprenticeship with the Living World
My years here have been an apprenticeship of attention. I spent time with people who have devoted their lives to understanding the intelligence of the natural world. The ecologists taught me the relationships between every living thing, how nothing exists in isolation, and how the smallest shift in one part of an ecosystem ripples through the entire web of life. The ethnobotanists, deep ecologists, and plant people showed me how the forest communicates in subtle ways, how every leaf, flower, and root carries knowledge, how the natural world offers us a language we have almost forgotten. They did not speak in theories or texts. Their lessons were felt in the body, observed with the eyes, remembered in the rhythm of daily living.
I learned to move through the land with care and attention, listening before acting, observing before intervening. In the evenings, I would sit quietly under the canopy, noticing the interplay of moonlight and shadow, the soft rustle of leaves, the chorus of creatures emerging into the night. These quiet periods became teachers, reminding me that presence itself is a practice. The land remembers us when we allow ourselves to remember it.
In this apprenticeship, I came to see that our own bodies are not separate from the ecology around us. Our systems reflect the forests and rivers, the cycles of rain and sun. The rhythm of our breath echoes the wind moving through the treetops. The pulse of our hearts mirrors the rhythm of the land. To rewild the body is to re-enter that conversation, bioweaving our awareness with the patterns of life that sustain the whole.
Rewilding the Body
Rewilding the body is a remembering of what has always been possible. It is the recognition that the human form is a continuation of it. I began to spend long periods of time observing and moving with this principle in mind. I ate foods as close to their living state as possible, spent hours barefoot in the soil and water, and allowed myself to be exposed to the sun and rain in ways that my modern life had discouraged. Slowly, the body began to respond. Sensitivity returned. Intuition deepened. Awareness sharpened. Movement became more like a conversation with the land itself, bioweaving the rhythms of the earth into my own.
Living fully in this way is a form of communion. It requires surrender, patience, and humility. It requires listening with the whole body. When we allow ourselves to truly inhabit our senses, we begin to notice the signals the land offers, the patterns that repeat across forest and river and sky, the subtle teachings embedded in the textures, colours, and rhythms of the world. Each moment becomes a reminder that our bodies are part of a larger living system.
Over the years, I witnessed others who joined me in this way of living. They arrived carrying tension, fatigue, and disconnection. In the fullness of the tropical environment, in the presence of attentive guidance, and in the rhythm of daily life with the land, they began to remember. They learned to trust their senses again, to respond to the intelligence around them, and to live in greater alignment with their own natural rhythms. These transformations were quiet, subtle, yet deeply sustaining.
Ecology as Spiritual Practice
The forest teaches through example. I have learned more about patience, interdependence, and presence by observing the cycles of life here than in any classroom. Each living element carries a role; each interaction is part of a larger conversation. The water moves, the soil shifts, the leaves decompose and nourish, the creatures move in ways that sustain the whole. In witnessing this, I began to recognize that our own consciousness functions in the same way. To awaken spiritually is to awaken to the interconnection of all things, to recognize the intelligence that permeates life, to honour the networks of relationship that support every form of growth and expression, bioweaving ourselves into the greater web of life.
In this place, ceremony and practice are not separate from daily life. Moving through the forest, observing, tending, and listening is itself a practice. Sitting in silence, allowing attention to settle on the rhythms of the land, allows us to see patterns in our own lives. The boundaries between internal and external begin to dissolve. What is remembered in the forest is remembered in the self. What is restored in the self is restored in the forest.
Through the years, I have come to understand that spiritual awakening and ecological awareness are inseparable. The clarity that arises when we attune to the intelligence of the land flows naturally into our relationships, our choices, and our way of being in the world. To remember the Earth is to remember ourselves. To live fully is to live as part of the intricate and beautiful web that surrounds us.
Remembering the Earth Within
Some moments stand out in my memory as invitations to remember. One evening, I sat quietly in the forest after a long day of walking and observing. The light had softened, and the air was warm with the lingering presence of day. In that stillness, I became aware of a deep pulse, a recognition that the intelligence of the land was present within me as much as around me. In that moment, I realized that the Earth remembers us when we remember her. The plants, the soil, the water, the creatures, all carry an awareness that flows into us when we are willing to receive, bioweaving our presence with theirs.
Over the decades, countless experiences like this have taught me that we enter to remember. We enter to rewild. We enter to allow the intelligence of the living world to awaken something that has lain dormant within our own bodies and hearts. Each walk, each observation, each period of quiet presence is an opportunity to return to what has always been ours.
Living Medicine
To live among the tropics is to live in a state of constant invitation. The sun, the rain, the soil, the rivers, the jungle, and the wind all offer opportunities to engage fully with life. We begin to understand our own bodies as ecosystems, reflecting the intelligence of the land. We learn that nourishment comes from more than food alone. It comes from attention, from presence, from rhythm, from movement, from listening, from participating in the continuous conversation of life, bioweaving ourselves into its flow.
I have spent decades moving with this understanding. I have spent days observing, nights reflecting, seasons attuning. I have learned to walk slowly, to breathe fully, to inhabit each moment. The tropics are a living participant, a teacher, a mirror, a guide. To be here is to be reminded that our lives are part of a vast, intricate, and intelligent whole.
An Invitation
It is from this place of remembering that I invite you.
Deep in the tropics, there is a space where you can come to rewild your body, to remember the Earth, and to enter a field of awareness that has always been present, though often forgotten. It is a place for walking slowly, listening deeply, moving with attention, and resting into the intelligence of the land. A place for reflection, for presence, and for participation in the continuous unfolding of life.
The retreat that my brother Gustavo and I are offering is an opportunity to inhabit the tropics fully. To move with care. To observe and participate. To remember what has been waiting within you all along. Here, you will find yourself in rhythm with the land, in the pulse of the air, in the quiet intelligence of every living thing. You will remember your body as a landscape, your breath as a river, your senses as guides, and your presence as a bridge between the inner and outer worlds.
I invite you to remember yourself, for rewilding is a journey of returning to yourself. To remember is to awaken. To be present is to recognize the living intelligence that surrounds and inhabits us. The sacred plant medicines are waiting, offering the chance to stroll, breathe deeply, and remember that we belong to the Earth as much as the Earth belongs to us.
Come and join us. Come to move, to sit, to listen, to witness, to inhabit, to remember. Allow the tropics to awaken what has been waiting all along. Step into a field of sacred presence, bioweaving your awareness with the living intelligence of the green world.