What sets Domei apart isn’t method or pedigree. It’s how we pay attention.
Most approaches to nature carry the weight of purpose. We observe to learn. We categorise to understand. We connect to heal or grow or become better versions of ourselves.
Even in reverence, there’s often an agenda, subtle but persistent.
Domei asks for something different. A quality of attention that expects nothing and grasps at less.
Think of how you might sit with a good friend on a quiet afternoon. No agenda driving the conversation. No outcome to achieve. Just the simple pleasure of being present with someone whose company you enjoy.
You’re curious about their thoughts but not mining for insights. You’re listening, but you’re not solving their problems.
There’s space between you, respect for their autonomy, their right to remain mysterious.
This is the attention Domei cultivates with the more-than-human world.
It’s neighbourly attention.
It recognises every plant, patch of earth, and weather pattern as a being with its own intelligence. Not intelligence as we typically understand it. Not problem solving or language making, but the deeper intelligence of form and function, season and response, root and reach.
Something shifts when we bring this quality of attention to a nettle patch or a standing stone. We stop trying to extract meaning and start receiving presence.
The plant doesn’t become our teacher in the sense of delivering lessons. It simply reveals itself as it is, in this moment, in this place.
This isn’t passive observation. It’s an active choice to remain present without being possessive, curious without being invasive, and let the world be itself while we learn to be good company.
That’s perhaps the heart, learning to be good company for the earth.