Spirit in Matter

Reflections on a Group-Based Plant Observation in the Swiss Alps

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“There is no matter without spirit, and there is no spirit without matter.”

This somewhat abstract mantra has fascinated me ever since I first encountered it over three decades ago. It offered me a sense of deep comfort—suggesting a greater order and deeper meaning to the material world around us—and yet it also brought a twinge of disappointment: was there really no spirit without matter? That question has lingered ever since. How exactly is spirit connected with matter? And how can I know for certain what constitutes Spirit in relation to our world?

When I signed up for a five-day medical conference on plant observation in the Swiss Alps, I wasn’t consciously pursuing that line of inquiry. The program, offered by GAAD—the association for anthroposophical doctors in Germany—advertised continued professional development set in stunning alpine landscapes, with hikes, conversations, and evening campfires. It sounded like an enriching, nature-filled getaway. I thought of my daughter—not a medic, but someone who shares my interest in medicinal plants—and invited her along.

After a day of travel by plane, train, and through winding mountain tunnels, we arrived in the remote alpine village of Blatten. There, we were warmly welcomed by the organizing doctors and hosts, who made us feel immediately at home.

A Different Kind of Study

The next morning, we began our first mountain walk. It was early June, and nature was in full bloom—fresh greens bursting forth, insects roused by the warm sunlight, flowers abundant in colour and fragrance. The beauty was almost overwhelming.

But this was not a typical study of plants. There were no lectures on botanical classification, no PowerPoint slides on medicinal uses. Instead, the focus was on encounter—the experience of spirit as it expresses itself through nature.

True to the principles of Goethean science, the facilitators gently guided us into a deeper way of seeing. Over the four days that followed, we explored the elements—air, water, light, earth—starting with geology and rock formations that revealed the ancient story of the Alps, different on either side of the valley. The one side which has flatter rock coverings whereas the other shows the insides of the deeper layers, where crystalline structures are broken into smaller bits. Amazingly, one participant found a large shiny see-through mountain crystal in the shallow ravine.

We continued with the element of water. After an introductory talk on observation, we were invited to find a quiet place by a stream and simply be with the water. As it tumbled over rocks and dispersed into mist, it was as if the soul itself lifted with the rising droplets. Observing water in this way requires a certain inner stillness, a receptive openness that allows a new form of knowing to emerge—one based not on analysis, but on encounter.

Meeting the Plants

Later, we turned our attention to the plants of the Lötschental—the valley in which Blatten, an 8,000-year-old village, is situated.*

Our approach to plant observation was carefully structured. We were asked not to identify the plants through books or digital tools. Instead, we began with the “first impression”: What touches me? What feelings, thoughts, or images arise?

From there, we moved into more detailed observation: the plant’s environment, its smell, sound (yes—some petals rustle like silk), and even taste. We studied not just the form of the plant, but how it interacted with light and space. What ordering principles shaped its growth? What formative forces were at work?

Then came the deeper questions: What is the plant being? What story does it tell? What name is it calling for? Could it inspire a poem, a song, or a dance?

A Tiny Plant, a Powerful Encounter

Our group of five chose a plant that lived on the very edge of winter. In June, that meant hiking up to the snow line, where thick patches of snow—half a meter deep—still clung to the north-facing slopes, melting slowly into the sodden heather and grass.

There, in the icy snowstorm on our fourth day, we encountered delicate purple, bell-shaped flowers with feathery skirts, clustered in small groups. We were overwhelmed by their fragile beauty—and deeply moved by their quiet resilience. We wanted to shelter them, take them home, keep them safe.

But then we realized: this plant didn’t need protection. It was thriving in these harsh conditions. Some of its blossoms were even found beneath the snow, melting small clearings around themselves to create space to grow.

The dark green, kidney-shaped leaves survive the winter, and the flower bud for the next year begins developing in autumn. The blossoms change colour as they mature—from deep purple to red, to a soft bluish hue, then back to red as the skirt-like flower falls, leaving a slender stem to nourish a tiny fruit.

Its feathery petals, with their porous texture, seemed to mirror the alpine stars or snow crystals—tiny reflections of the greater cosmos around it.

This was no ordinary botanical exercise. It was a slow, unfolding revelation. We, as a group, found ourselves erupting with joy each time we noticed a new detail, each time the plant revealed another piece of its story. Drawing the plant helps to see more detail, just like putting it under the microscope does.

The Spirit in Nature

The approach to learning matters. I had signed up for an educational holiday with my grown-up daughter—hoping for fresh air, beautiful walks, and shared conversations about health and nature.

What I hadn’t expected was to learn something entirely new: how to perceive the workings of spirit within the natural world. This was more than knowledge—it was a lived experience of connection.

It was a unique and generous gift from the group of dedicated doctors who led us through those days.

Thank you.

*Epilog: 

Since these blissful days, the village of Blatten was struck by disaster. In May 2025 90% of the village was covered by a massive landslide of mud and rocks. Thankfully, all inhabitants, about 300, had been evacuated some 10 days prior to the incident. The house in which we gathered was one of the few houses spared by this natural disaster. Still, a tragedy for this beautiful place and all the people affected. The plants up the mountain sides will still be there for future excursions and observation.