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Beyond the "Big Lie": How One Therapist Began to Wake Up
California. A hospice volunteer and co-founder of EarthWays, a wilderness rites ofpassage program, and a board member of the pioneering School of Lost Borders, sherecounts her own transforming experience of a wilderness vision quest and discusses thespeccs of how an Earth-centered focus crept into her therapy practice, informing andenriching it.in my client's story.Margaret was in her late fifties, impeccably dressed and normally quite poised, but recentevents had shaken her deeply. She had been coming to therapy because her husband had beenhaving an affair for several years. Her world had shattered and her severe anxiety was almostunmanageable. Although they were working hard to repair their relationship, her sense of selfhad collapsed.They lived on rural land inherited from her parents, and now they owned it in partnershipwith their grown children. Recently, her son had used a tractor to make a recreational area, butended up scraping the ground completely bare right near a beautifully shaded year-round creek.She felt disturbed, yet apologetic about her feelings. A few days later, some men hired by herhusband aggressively pruned a majestic valley oak without her knowledge or approval. Limbsthat had hung down to the ground for eons, creating a magical green sanctuary underneath, hadbeen severely chopped back. In the process, their machines had savagely ripped up the naturalgarden under the oak.When Margaret saw that tee, she discovered feelings she didn't know she was evencapable of. This normally composed woman raged, screamed, wailed, and cried. She sat with herGrandmother tree, stroking and talking aloud to it. Her heart broke open in response to that land,the beings, the tree, and to her own nature. Margaret discussed this experience with me,chagrined at her wild feelings and very cautious about telling me her story. No one knew that foryears she had secretly been going to that tree to talk; she thought it was a "weird" thing abouther, best kept hidden. But as she described her connection to the tree, and through the reflecting
Sara Harris
Sara Harris is a marriage and family therapist in private practice in Sebastopol,
Once upon a time as a psychotherapist, I would have passed right over some vital elements
 
2and listening I was able to give, she began to claim her authority within the family, first onbehalf of her beloved tree and land, then for her own life.So what would I have missed in the years before I woke up to the world ofecopsychology? I would have heard the feelings, to be sure, but I would have paid more attentionto the "family" dynamics. I might have focused more on the catharsis and related the grief onlyto her difficulties with her marriage. My notion of family would have not included the beautifulvalley oak, the rushing stream, and the ravaged ground. I would have missed the lifeblood andthe very heart of this story. Margaret would not have been empowered by my bearing witness toher story. She would not have come away from our time together with an understanding of herneed to protect and speak for life. Narrowly interpreting her experience through a traditionalpsychological approach would have ultimately been a loss for Margaret, her family andcommunity, and for me as well. We would not have shed tears together.For many years, my world was split. I "worked" as a therapist during most of the year,and then I went on "vacation" to the "wilderness." Driving back from the mountains or desert, Ioften felt an upwelling of grief and sorrow. I loved my work, but within about four days ofreturning, my time on the land had receded into the distance. I would begin dreaming about thenext trip, and the longing would intensify over time until I had to "get away" again.When I could not get away, I read. My heart was blown open by the words of those witha clear understanding of the significance of the natural world in their lives. Terry TempestWilliams, Barry Lopez, Susan Griffin, Mary Oliver, Wallace Stegner, and so many others gavevoice to the agonizing alienation I felt, as well as the joy I experienced when I reconnected withthe earth. Their articulation of the passion and pain I was struggling to understand helped meenormously.But the split I felt began to really heal only after I found ways to experience the earththrough simple and ancient ways. At age fifty, I went on my first vision quest. Little did I knowthat my life, my therapy work, and my connection with the earth would be transformed forever.My fellow (pesters were of all ages and came seeking purpose and clarity. Some, ravaged bylife, were despairing and grieving. Like me, some came to mark life changes. Some arrivedshaking in their boots, with little or no experience in the outdoors, while others were raring to go.I went out alone into the high desert of California's Illy° Mountains for four days,without shelter or food, after receiving expert preparation from Anne Stine of Wilderness Rites.
 
3Never before had I gone so long without seeing, hearing, or speaking to another human. Restingin the shade of a pilion pine, I began to notice intimate signs of the life cycle of trees that Iusually went too fast to observe. I cried deeply and laughed out loud; I made up songs and poemsand wrote in my journal. The birds and dragonflies became my companions. I faced my fearsabout changes in weather, about sleeping out in the dark without a tent, about critters I fearedmight be unwelcome visitors, about being alone with my own mind. But most profoundly, Ibegan to know that I was safe, that I belonged to this earth, and that I could face death andtherefore claim my precious life more fully.When I returned, thrilled to see my fellow humans as well as the hearty breakfast thatawaited us, the time eventually came to tell my story. Anne, our guide and passionate elder,reflected back to me the journey I had undertaken, pointing out key elements in my story thatshowed my gifts and strengths. Telling my story, and having it heard so deeply, brought forthenormous clarity, joy, and commitment. I listened as my fellow questers told the stories of theirtime on the land. As a therapist, I was amazed and humbled by what I witnessed. Recurringthemes included death and rebirth, a profound sense of belonging, courage to step forth into ourunique gifts, and grief transformed into depth and beauty. There was an emphasis on truematurity and joyous responsiveness to the earth.Immediately upon my return home, I was galvanized to learn how to bring thisunmediated experience of being in nature into my therapy work. I devoured the writings ofSteven Foster and Meredith Little, founders of the School of Lost Borders in the Owens Valley,on California's eastern slope of the Sierra. Steven coined the phrase "the Big Lie" to express thedominant worldview that we are separate from nature.' For years, Steven and Meredith hadwritten, taught, and guided countless numbers of people in wilderness rites of self-initiation. Inthis work they used a circular map derived from the indigenous peoples of many lands,combining this wheel image with aspects of archetypal and depth psychology. The wheelexpresses the four seasons/faces/personas of human life, which correspond to the seasons of theearth. It also maps human stages of development, assisting us to create balance, navigate
transitions, and prepare for death, enabling us to live more fully.
I then did my training to become a guide in this rites of passage work at the School ofLost Borders. Andy Fisher also influenced me at this time with his ideas about howecopsychology is inextricably bound up with social change. As fate would have it, Andy was in
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