Lady Gaia

Meatsuits on Mars or harps in Heaven?
Where on Earth shall we go from here?

Whatever we may wish to think, we are creatures of Earth, our life is part of the life of the Earth; and we draw our nourishment from it just as the plants and animals do, or so said British polymath and all around philosodude with an attitude, Bertrand Russell.

Old man Russell makes an excellent point. We did not create the Earth but rather we are a dependent growth within its sealed environment. And honestly, what created Earth is really none of our business and without any helpful interpretation. Mr. Russell concurs.

What else are we made of but earthen elements? In some Eastern traditions our physicality is called the food-body. We are squelchy, ribbed, oxygen-burning vessels fashioned out of groceries and lots of water, filled to the brim with other tiny, squirming wrigglers; ten non-human cells for every one human cell. Astonishing.

It is even more remarkable to consider that there will always be the same amount of air and water within this delicately balanced, completely closed system, like one of those enormous corked, plant-filled bottles old hippies sometimes have hanging around. Plant matter gives forth the oxygen we need at every moment while hungrily awaiting our returning CO2. Some geologists even refer to the Earth’s flora as our third lung.

In this continuous cycle, we reuse the very water and breathe the same air that was once utilized by every diverse entity that could come to mind; sabertoothed tigers, that Chinese empress, horseshoe crabs, Spinoza, Lillie Langtry, a majestic stag, Goebbels, lobsters, Ella Fitzgerald, every lark ever, and both the Queens Elizabeth. Innumerable beings have flattened down into an unbroken path for us to step forward on.

It’s puzzling why some assume we might very easily leave Earth. The notion that we can somehow set up camp elsewhere with these fleshy garments; our bag of bags filled with lymph, blood, bile, urine, and so forth—made exclusively out of terra’s elements—seems unlikely at this moment. Shuffling off from here to there in large, sturdy tins is not an imminent Plan B for humanity as some would dream, at least not in this century.

Despite the capabilities we currently possess as a collective, it is not even possible to set up an encampment on our BFF, the Moon. So far, a few quick visits are all we’ve managed. Sure, there are a few humans spending time, for rather vague reasons, in large, expensive cans spinning around Earth’s orbit. Who hasn’t wondered if such pricey group efforts might be more directed to benefit the species with our enormous troubles down here? Bless their hearts. 

While it is reasonable to contemplate future endeavors akin to those depicted in the world of Star Trek. But like any mother might tell us, we are not going anywhere until we clean up our room. For in that quite sensible, if imaginary, Star trek universe, space travel is the result of peace and cooperation, as it would undoubtedly have to be in any reality. Star Trek’s invented but exemplary model of the United Federation of Planets is, according to Viscount Google, a vast interstellar alliance founded on the exacting, enlightened principles of liberty, equality, justice, progress, and peaceful co-existence. We are not even close to our own dang fantasy.

That so many follow this fictional, yet advanced world is a good sign for the future of us, the human clusterthrum. Then again, many are sucked into various doomsday cults featuring the perpetual apocalypse show, a different sort of long-standing contraption of control about having to get the hell out of this place, either physically or spiritually before, you know, The End of the World…dun, dun, duh. This dichotomy reflects who human beings really are; an interesting assortment of folk, envisioning what wild worlds they please.

This talk of colonizing Mars as a done deal, soon to materialize through the unchecked, self-interested power of the anti-empathy oligarchs, since we (they) shall soon be done using up this old world and will (must) simply move to Mars, like America’s westward pioneers. This is, of course, an entirely premature ejacufantasy. An oleaginous dream.

Many actual astrophysicists have patiently advised that focusing on another planet, especially one that is both beyond our reach as well as toxic to human life on every possible level, as a desperate backup plan, is not especially sound thinking, and could possibly be just a front for some complex grift. Rather, smart folk strongly suggest that if vast resources do exist for dubious Mars ventures, why the heck won’t we just use those funds to repair and sustain this planet? Why travel to make a new home on a barren, hostile rock when we could simply spruce the joint up and continue to live here in elegance and beauty? Fix Earth, then, sure, plan your head off for Mars, or even the Moon, but our home planet must be the priority.

In 2021, the original Captain Kirk, William Shatner, was thrilled at the invitation to travel, at ninety-years-old no less, into the final frontier. However, when he got out there, he was flabbergasted to discover that the contrast between the empty coldness of space and the warm nurturing of Earth now so far away only filled him with an overwhelming sorrow. An unexpected and sudden realization of the destruction of our planet fell on him as a great weight, changing his views completely. 

When most individuals travel into space and observe Earth from orbit, they are often indescribably heart-stung with a new life-altering awareness of our home’s beauty, nurturance, and its vulnerability.  Known as the Overview Effect, it has significantly impacted many astronauts. Only oligarchs seem immune to its power, probably due to that pesky old Billionaire Madness Syndrome, perhaps the very same virus driving the Mars illusions.

These strong desires to mechanically escape this world leaving behind our messy troubles remind me of watching an interview with followers of a Californian radio church that captured national attention after believers bought billboards and ads to kindheartedly notify the rest of the country that they had it, on very good authority, that the world would end on May 21, 2011. The most impressive part of this interview was the convert’s demeanor of utter peace. When asked why they were so happy they could not hold back the practical reasons for their giddy joy in the surety of the end of this world.

We are free! We quit our jobs and stopped paying the mortgage! And we will soon be in a perfect world of peace away from all these burdens in this wretched place.

Watching the interview, I pondered the old maxim that you cannot con anyone who isn’t greedy or needy. But before we feel the wash of superiority over any believer, we might recognize that we all undoubtedly have fallen for the con on some level because we have all been at times greedy or needy, in some way, for something to be true, when it is not.

Certainly, I wish to believe that because I have sent my carefully rinsed plastic containers to the transfer station for twenty years that the ocean full of disintegrating household plastic, now found everywhere on the planet, is not connected to me in any way. Hey, I recycle. Where does my recycled plastic go, anyway? Where? What? Oh, I see.

We all crave escape from responsibilities and worldly burdens at times. How do we go on living every day with full knowledge, especially in our relative comfort, of destructive out-of-control forces or mass horrors suffered worldwide? Such knowledge is difficult to live with, without allowing, at times, some diversion and numbness to creep in. Guilty.

People often yearn deeply for another world. Or at least we would prefer that all those other dreadful evil-doers and dunderheads stop making the messes so it may be set right. Yet whatever the acts of the few, nothing happens at large without the consent of all; the pollution, the starvation, the greed, the genocide. It is not those bad people out there, it is us. Perhaps we do not participate or even condone, yet distracted within our own dense domains, we surely allow.

Still, we refuse to see our own projections. The truth is that we are the fragile ones, not this powerful, enduring being, Lady Gaia. All the damage we do to her; the pollution, the poisoning, the smashing, the plundering of resources, has only diminished our collective well-being.  Life makes more sense when we accept the reality that the powerful ecosystem of this planet, with its extensive self-defense mechanisms, will not permit our troubling her forever and she will do what is in the best interests of all her offspring. 

Eventually, she may just shake us off like annoying fleas. More likely, her waters will simply keep rising, as they seem determined to do everywhere, to thwart and cover our misdeeds, by becoming everything.

We do have it coming, silly homo sapiens sapiens. Perhaps a few more scares may bring about the time when we can finally move past our fixations with the circus carousel of election cycles as our desperate reference point, and our only hope. It is not working; it has never worked. Our arrogant demands for miraculous changes in civilization to come forth within our particular lifespan are meaningless.

There is more to this life on Earth than newsfeed pandemonium and grave errors abounding. Truly, acts of kindness are far more ubiquitous, that’s why horror is newsworthy. Like the proverbial fish in the sea that do not perceive the water around them, we are blind to the pervasive love and compassion that envelopes humanity. Most of us scuttling around this world, including billionaire scalawags, spend our days caring for others so constantly, so routinely that it generally goes unnoticed as we become increasingly obsessed with rockets and bayonets. In truth, the perps and the wounded are both suffering.

Yet a large part of us keeps simple faith in the constant and endless cycles of nature. We talk of the weather, we look to the skies. We do love those nearby, we generally bless those far from us, we seek and find reconciliation on all levels, we grow gardens for ourselves and plant trees as our commitment to lives forthcoming. 

Like our old pal, Mr. Russell, I do not subscribe to any dogma, finding all but a few shackling and dangerous. But unlike him, I am comfy with all concepts of metaphysical worlds, realms, or fantastic destinies, if we can imagine it, it may signify or at the very least, fascinate. Although I am certain that we are all just toddlers looking at Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel, we haven’t a clue beyond seeing shapes and colors so far above us, so best to keep our mouths closed. How beneficial could it be to either speak too much of, or long deeply for, what we don’t understand?

We are here together, on this honeyed Earth, bound to it as long as we breathe with its pervasive third lung. Ultimately, there is no easy escape from Ma Tellus, her apron strings are entirely encompassing and we are tightly fastened to every creation on Earth including humanity, with all our shocking betrayals to life itself. Yet trees grow and life moves onward and upwards, slowly but ever so surely.

We will all open our fists and soften our glare, without exception, and humbly lay down this life, without demands, eventually. Why not tumble gracefully? For cultivating compassion is the secret remedy for every sort of injustice. We are getting there, and it can be gauged.

This advancement can indeed be quantitatively measured. For statistical evidence, look up the brief but enjoyable BBC presentation by the late Swedish physician and academic, Hans Rosling titled, 200 Years in 4 Minutes. This demonstration of the steady and relatively rapid elevation of the species is both jolly and incontrovertible.

And you, too, as part of the tribe, are free to uncover within your own assortment of imaginal bits some of the infinite possibilities and choose what it is you shall magnify in the cause of our wonderful, important lives here on Earth. Sans our interference, we can trust that a sovereign nature will steady her overflowing, teeming menstrual bowl of life and not lose a drop of her juicy heart, as we further our sometimes tainted, sometimes wacky but always glorious song of the multitudes.