An Interview with John Seed: Environmental Activism, Rainforest Conservation, and the Council of All Beings

In this third part of a series of articles on environmentalism and spirituality, MOTHER interviews John Seed, the world's leading environmental activist for rainforest protection, who is now practicing deep ecology to awaken people's spiritual connections to the Earth.


| May/June 1989



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John Seed, the "town crier of the global village," works to awaken our spiritual connection to the earth.


PHOTO: PAT STONE

The council of all beings had ended; the drumbeats echoing away like thunder, the energy and the tension leaving us. Now it was time to abandon this awe-inspiring, 9,000-foot-high meadow in Montana's jagged Crazy Mountains. Time to wend our way back down to the campground and, ultimately, our homes.

The intense weekend had culminated in a ceremony in which a group of people took on the roles of other species and shared those creatures' concerns for themselves, the planet and that troublesome fellow species—the human. But I didn't have time to reflect on that experience just yet. Not now, when I finally had the opportunity I'd been waiting for all weekend; the chance to corner the Council's dedicated and singular leader, Australian John Seed.

Seed is probably the world's leading activist for rainforest protection. "The town crier of the global village," the Christian Science Monitor called him. He has buried himself neck-deep in front of bulldozers to stop logging. He founded the Rainforest Information Centre (RIC), a global-action group doing everything from funding a lawyer for an endangered tribe in Sarawak to planting an "agricultural moat" around a jungle in Ecuador. Now (the summer of  '88) he was roaming America, sleeping on floors and in forests, trying to awaken people's spiritual connections to the earth with a unique ceremony he had helped create.

Seed's impressive rainforest conservation résumé had led me to expect an "ecovangelist"—a solemn Cassandra of planetary doom and gloom. Instead, I found a long-maned troubadour flailing a guitar and crooning environmental ballads. A 43-year-old sprite with impish eyes and a soft voice ever quick to laugh.

Indeed, when I mentioned that I'd like my photographs to reflect his playfulness, he eagerly agreed to go jump in the creek. So as we started down the streamside trail, I soon found myself turning off my tape recorder—and taking off my clothes. (Well, how could I get close enough to shoot my skinny-dipping subject if I wasn't ready for a plunge myself?)





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