Back to our roots

Why reconnecting with your own soil might be the medicine of this time

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about belonging. About soil, actually. My own soil. Home ground.

You’re not born somewhere on earth by accident. There is ancient wisdom in every corner of the world, including the one you grew up in. But in parts of the Western world, much of that knowledge was buried. Witch hunts, religious oppression, and centuries of subtle cultural erasure pushed local traditions, rituals, healing practices, sacred places, and connection to land and water out of daily life.

That erasure was incredibly effective.

And when something disappears, we start looking for it somewhere else.

Globalization brought us incredible things. We can learn from cultures across the planet, share knowledge, travel, taste foods from everywhere, and connect beyond borders. There is beauty in that. But scale has a shadow side too. When everything grows bigger, faster, and farther away, we quietly lose intimacy, resilience, and local knowledge. Many of the problems we face today are, in some way, the result of things becoming too large, too distant, too disconnected from the places we actually live.

And maybe that is why we so often look outward now.

Why do I receive a truly magnificent book from a foreign photographer about my own heritage, Dutch traditional clothing, while we ourselves seem less and less familiar with our own traditions? Are we even interested in it? He saw the beauty of it. It made me incredibly happy and sad at the same time. Why are we so fascinated by distant cultures, yet often barely know the rituals, clothing, or stories of the land beneath our own feet? Are we somehow almost programmed to dismiss it?

So we travel far to find rituals, medicines, clothing, symbols, and ceremonies. We search in indigenous cultures, distant traditions, rainforests, deserts, and mountains. And while there is beauty and wisdom there, and traveling is a magical way to broaden perspective, sometimes I wonder what we have forgotten right under our own feet.

Medicinal herbs grow here too. Healing foods grow here too. Our ancestors also had gods, rituals, initiation rites, seasonal celebrations, tattoos, clothing, and deep practical knowledge of land, water, and weather. They knew when to sow and when to harvest, how to preserve food, which plants healed and which to leave alone.

A good witch, they say, is bound to her own soil. I feel that. That saying hit me like a ton of bricks.

Your microbiome belongs to the biome of the land you live on. The crystals in your body resonate with the minerals in your own sand and stones. That’s not any stranger than the invisible waves we happily use every day through Wi-Fi, Bluetooth, and radio. Energy moves whether we name it mystical or technological.

I know some people wonder why I write in English if I love where I come from so much. But wanting to share my work beyond borders doesn’t make me less Dutch. Quite the opposite. I once moved only thirty kilometers inland and missed my dunes and the sea so much it hurt. The day I came back, I cried from relief. Walking through the dunes with my father on a beautiful summer evening, we looked at each other and didn’t need words, yet still said it out loud: “This is our ground. We belong here.” We could smell it. We could feel it all around us.

I love mountains, bright blue oceans, palm trees, oriental temples, and Native American designs. I love Greek mythology and ancient Egyptian structures and secrets. I’m naturally drawn to Indonesian dancing and Scottish landscapes. But I also recognize that much of what pulls us toward distant places may be echoes carried within us.

Still, I am here now. And I feel my work belongs here, in the Dutch ‘swamp’. Land of sand, mud, clay, and water. No rocks anywhere, which is actually quite funny when you think about it. With all its hues of green and grey in the colors of the North Sea, the rivers, lakes, and canals. I love this with my whole heart.

Somewhere along the way, we lost not only practical skills and independence, but also a deeper sense of who we are in relation to our own land. And now many of us feel that something is missing. We crave ritual again. Meaning. Connection. And so we often look outward once more.

We drink ayahuasca, tattoo ourselves with symbols from cultures far away, buy supplements shipped across the planet, and collect crystals mined somewhere we will never see. I’m not judging that. I enjoy food and flavors from other cultures too, a lot actually, and I’m not suggesting we must suddenly reject everything global.

I’m simply asking questions.

What if part of what we’re searching for is already here? In our own landscapes, seasons, plants, waters, and traditions. What if reconnection can start locally, quietly, personally? Going on adventures abroad, sure, but searching, finding and honouring the power and beauty of your own sacred soil as well.

Looking back on my life so far, I can see that I always craved that connection somehow. My love of horses grounds me in land, weather, grass, and manure. Riding through the dunes on horseback for hours as a teenager. Being outside in all types of weather. Lots of mud and shit basically. Walking my dog endlessly through my beautiful surroundings behind the dunes. Spending my working life touching bodies, helping them heal. Tending my garden. Always slightly dirty nails, and proud of it. Because I need to feel things directly. My food, dough, soil, animals. Living it. Connecting to it. Building my biome. 

At the same time, I sometimes feel sad realizing I’m trying to relearn knowledge that should have come naturally, like a preschooler rediscovering basics. Knowledge that simply wasn’t passed down any further, somewhere along the line. Funny enough, I now do that relearning alongside my own mother and my children. It’s not always successful, but the effort and intention feel healing in themselves.

I’m all for exploring, for remembering the ancient knowledge your spirit carries. And I’m certainly not condemning people who feel the urge to emigrate or travel a lot. Either by choice or forced by war or scarcity. I’m simply asking: what if our home soil is far more cool and magical than we ever imagined or learned? I can’t wait to keep exploring and rediscovering it.

Strangely, conversations like this are, in these polarized times, often labeled political, sometimes even placed on the “wrong” side of the spectrum, while for me they are simply human. It’s about remembering where we come from, why we are here in the first place, and finding resilience and belonging close to home.

As I write this, I realize my words can easily be interpreted in ways I don’t intend. Still, I’m choosing to share them. Because I believe we can ask questions, express thoughts and feelings, and stay in conversation without needing to pick sides, simply speaking from a place of love.

And I sometimes wonder whether looking at everything primarily through a political lens might make it harder for us to meet each other simply as human beings, connected to the places we call home.

As human beings, a lot of our troubles stem from a disconnect from nature.

Let’s reconnect, as a living being in a living natural environment. And maybe the next step isn’t farther away, but closer than we think.

If this stirred something in you, don’t ignore it.

You might not be looking for more information, you might be looking for reconnection.

This is the kind of work I do. Not fixing you. Not adding more. But helping you remember who you are and where you stand.

If you want reflections like this in your inbox, you can join my letters.
If you feel ready for real movement, book a conversation.

Love, Annemarijn

P.S. The book that sparked this reflection: Between the Sea and the Sky by Jimmy Nelson.

Also very inspiring on ths theme: Zach Bush MD and Vandana Shiva