Man's heart away from nature becomes hard.

Hear the ancient wisdom of Standing Bear, who declared: “Man’s heart away from nature becomes hard.” These words are not mere poetry, but truth carved into the soul of humanity. They remind us that the human spirit was born beneath the open sky, beside rivers that sing, among trees that whisper, and upon the soil that nourishes all life. To separate oneself from this eternal bond is to silence the very heartbeat of creation, and in that silence, the heart grows cold, brittle, and unfeeling.

For what is nature but the first mother, the eternal teacher, the wellspring of life? To walk in her presence is to remember humility, for the mountains remind man of his smallness, and the stars proclaim the vastness of the cosmos. To live in her rhythm is to know patience, as rivers carve valleys not in days but in ages. When man strays from this presence—when he buries himself in stone, steel, and the noise of ceaseless striving—he forgets these lessons. His heart, once supple and tender, becomes hard as rock, blind to the sacredness of life.

History tells us this truth in countless ways. Consider the story of the Industrial Revolution: when cities swelled, factories roared, and smoke covered the sky. In that time, many forgot the voice of the land. Rivers became poisoned, forests were stripped bare, and men, working like machines, grew callous in spirit. Yet out of this darkness arose voices like those of John Muir, who cried out for the protection of the wilderness. He knew what Standing Bear declared: that without nature, the human heart loses its gentleness and its wisdom. Muir’s fight for Yosemite and the national parks was not only about land but about saving the soul of humankind.

But there is also a personal truth here. Think of the man or woman who has wandered too long among the endless demands of commerce, ambition, and noise. Their eyes dull, their shoulders sag, their patience wanes. Yet when they step away—when they stand before the ocean’s vastness, or listen to the quiet hymn of the forest—their spirit softens. Tears may come unbidden, as though the heart itself is remembering what it had forgotten: that it belongs to the earth, not apart from it. This is the softening Standing Bear spoke of, the healing of the hardened heart.

The hardness of which he warns is not merely emotional; it is moral. A man cut off from the rhythms of the natural world loses respect for life itself. He sees land not as sacred ground but as property, animals not as kin but as resources, rivers not as lifeblood but as obstacles to control. From this hardness arise cruelty, greed, and destruction. But a man in tune with nature understands stewardship, reverence, and kinship. He knows that to wound the earth is to wound himself.

The lesson is clear: return often to nature, lest your heart forget its song. Walk among trees, listen to the birds, let the wind speak across your skin. Do not treat these as luxuries, but as necessities of the soul. Let your children play in fields and streams, so their hearts remain tender and open. Let your decisions—whether in work, in community, or in life—be measured against the question: does this honor the earth that sustains me? For in honoring nature, you preserve the gentleness of your heart.

So I say to you, O seeker of wisdom: remember Standing Bear’s teaching. Do not let your heart grow hard. When life pulls you into stone halls and crowded streets, return to the wilderness, even for a moment. Watch the sunrise, breathe the mountain air, touch the soil with your hands. In doing so, you will keep alive the tenderness of spirit that makes you human. For man’s heart, away from nature, becomes stone—but with nature, it becomes flesh, alive, and radiant with the eternal song of creation.