seedofgaia

[seedofgaia]

Though I doubt many will believe it, I will tell my story in the hopes that some of you do.

In our collapsing world, we have killed our gods. Not out of hate or malice or even blind ambition, but out of shame. When men burn forests and poison the earth, what god could there be? After being tossed around from one minimum wage job to another my entire life, God was either cruel, or more likely, imaginary.

Sometimes after working shifts, I would wander across the city. I looked for a respite from the horrors of the world, a calm island in the wild sea. I didn't find it. What I found were skyscrapers sneering at me with their cold glass faces. Our modern lords, filled with greed and spite. Under their watchful gaze, the decay of homes, the rot of advertisements, the screams of sirens, and the howl of engines. I barely felt human under it all. I felt like an ant, waiting to be crushed under their shoe.

After one particularly rough morning shift, I wandered under the furious sun. On my walk, I found an abandoned lot. What once might have been a lush and beautiful forest was now compacted dirt and debris. The life compacted and razed for profit. Not even the microbes survived. It was devestating, what we humans had done to nature. We had tried to yoke it to industry and in the end, had killed it and us. We didn't deserve it at all. This was not a place of honor; nowhere was anymore.

As I began to leave, I saw the flicker; a spark in a cold night. I turned back and spotted a lowly dandelion growing. It grew unperturbed, standing proud over its kingdom of scars. I pitied it, its quiet beauty belonged to some distant field, not in this callous place. I could save it, I thought, pluck it from the earth and plant it. Or maybe keep it, hide it from the cruel world and save it for myself. The world did not deserve to see its rough beauty. The world that had thrown it away to this god forsaken lot, along with everything not profitable enough to keep up.

So I walked onto the lot and towards the flower. Older washers and piles of shattered bricks, the monuments of better times, watched my travel. They would rot away someday soon as well. Maybe in a million years, but nothing of our self-destructive impulses would survive. The world will heal without us, eventually. But as I bent down to pluck the dandelion, I heard a voice barely a whisper, say.

"Stop"

I jumped back and looked around. Nobody. The world was filled with the silence of car engines again. Once again I bent down to pick the flower. Once again, the voice shouted.

"Stop!"

The voice was louder. It sounded like it was in the lot now. I looked, nothing. I reached. And this time, the voice's shout drowned out all other noise. 

"Halt!"

I fell back into the hard dirt. There was nothing but me, the rubble, and the dandelion. 

"Child," the voice commanded. "Look at me."

"Where are you?" I said. 

"Look towards what you desire," the voice said.

I looked towards the dandelion. It was merely a weed on a barren lot, nothing more.

"Good, now we can begin."

I scrambled to my feet, my eyes darting around the lot for anything human. I was alone.

"Who's fucking with me? Show yourself!"

"There is nobody but me," the voice said. It had the resonance of a home-cooked meal, of a soft sleep, of home. "Now sit and listen."

"I'm going insane." I really did think I was going insane. That the hammer of my mind broke on the anvil of the cruel world. A dandelion was talking to me.

"You are not child, now sit."

I sat on a discarded milk crate nearby, shaded by rubble. I thought that if I rested long enough, the voice would go silent. It was nice. A soft breeze blew through my sweat soaked hair. It reminded me of summers before the heat. 

"My child, I am very real." 

I decided that refusing to respond and acknowledge my delusions was the best bet. Closing my eyes, another gust of wind blew across me and I felt at peace. The voice continued.

"Has my child forgotten me so? I, who birthed you of my own flesh?" It said. "The children who now kill their siblings and scar their mother?"

"What the fuck do you want?" I said without thinking.

"I want you to open your eyes and see me, my child." It said.

    I tried to keep my eyes shut, but some force much more powerful than my will followed its orders. My eyelids opened a crack. And in that moment, She revealed herself to me. 

The dandelion, so insignificant before, began to grow. Its roots dug into the hardened soil around it, spreading out in a million directions. From those roots, life radiated out from the dandelion. First came lichens, a white wolf that devoured the dirt and rubble around me. When there was no more to eat, the white wolf starved and died as if that was its life purpose. From the corpse, grass erupted. They grew little before dying. The next generation lived longer and stood taller, as did the one after them. The flowers, seeing their opportunity to shine, invited themselves in. Golden poppies, sapphire browallia, and flowers I didn't even know the names of bobbed in the wind, petals drifting as the seasons passed like paint strokes of a jade canvas. They too grew and died and grew and died, changing as artists putting their all into their art. Their colors swam around the green sea, never staying put.

The grasses, unbothered by their flighty companions, continued to grow. They poked and prodded at my clothes, my skin, my being. I was the stranger in their world. The world, once full of the stench of exhaust and garbage was filled with the fragrance of lemon grass, of pollen, of life. Bushes, late to the party, abruptly grew and scattered about the prairie, growing plump with berries. Mice and rabbits scrambled between bushes, feasting in joy. Taking cue, trees grew from lonely children to merry adults. Sspen, pine, willow, and alder competed for the sun in light-hearted games. The trees grew and died and grew and died, their children expanding until the meadow was cloaked in shadows by their green dresses. The grasses felt no ill will despite this, they shrunk back down to more modest sizes, asking only for the morsels of sunlight that slipped through. Squirrels and birds found new homes in the trees, singing praise in their chirps and chittering. A deer wandered in and chewed on some grass. From the shade, oaks, spruce, and maples grew and grew until they towered over all, covering the world in green shade. An equilibrium was reached and all was calm again.

The dandelion still stood, basking on a throne of sunshine. No other plant dared steal it from her. I took a breath. My dehydrated lungs drank the fresh air  The silence was deafening. The beauty blinding. I sobbed as I fell onto my knees. Soft grass and clod cushioned my fall.

"Whatever you are," I sobbed. "Take pity on me... please."

"There is no need for pleas," She said. "I am merely a mother calling out to her lost child."

"My mom is dead," I said. "Her ashes were scattered by the winds to some better place."

"Part of your mother's spirit is in this dandelion, part is in a warm breeze in Brazil, part in an olive tree in Greece, and so many more. Your mother is alive in innumerable others."

My brain found nothing to respond with, my mouth found the taste of tears.

"But I am not that mother of yours," She continued. "I am the mother of your mother and every mother, big and small. I am the mother of all."

"Then who are you?" I managed to sputter out.

"I am the dirt and air that feeds it, the stone and the water that eats it, I am the mountains, and I am the sand. I am your mother."

"How?"

"I was the one who gave a pound of my flesh so that life could start in that chemical soup. And with my breath, I bore the first of your spirits. I am who guided the changes and improvements, from the single cell microbes to everything around you. Every time your heart beats, your lungs breathe, your muscles contract and relax, I birthed it into being."

"But most importantly, I watched as pieces from millions of my children's spirits make you. I watched as the grains of them mingle, catch one another, rally around, cheer, laugh, cry, mourn. I watched as they grew, their past lives blending, becoming less and less distinct from one another. They had decided to build something unique, to give back in new life. And as it solidified, I began to see less of them, and more of you." She paused as if tears were catching her voice. "And when they were finished, you were born. It was beautiful."

"Why?"

"Because my children have forgotten me, have forgotten their siblings. They have been led astray by their own ideas of dominance over us all. I wish to bring you home."

"But why me," I asked. "Am I special or something?"

"Your body is the product of 3.7 billion years of evolution. Your spirit is made of parts of millions of your past siblings. Every one of my children is so unique and fleeting. I see you only for a blink of an eye, and then you're gone, never to be seen again."

"But why tell me this?"

"You are not the first of your species I have talked to, you will not be the last."

"So what are you going to tell me? That humans are a virus, that science and technology is a sin and that we need to become cavemen again?"

She laughed. It sounded like when I told my mom a silly joke when I was a kid. It was pure and light and carried a soft melody on its back. It filled a part of me I hadn't realized was starving.

"No my child," She said, the last notes of her laugh drifting away. "Your ability to create is one of the most beautiful things about your species. It is everything I wanted from you and more. I want all my children to share in the act of creation, and you have done more than my wildest dreams. My human children are not the virus. Hardly."

The joy that danced on her voice stopped. "The virus is in your beautiful minds, one which you created. It formed when you forgot your siblings and I. It festered in the societies you build and the people who run them. It has made you believe that you and your world are superior from the rest of your family. To treat us not as even living things, but as resources to be used. To turn that thinking onto each other." She paused. "I have seen things I never thought my children possible of."

"But what can I do about that? It's impossible to change."

"People have made this virus, helped it grow, and built societies around it. People can just as easily destroy it."

"But I'm just one person."

"Then it is up to you to tell your siblings to join you and fight."

"And what am I supposed to tell them?"

"Tell them this,"

"First, humans are not separate from nature, you are its children. You are one of the trillions of children I have, but that does not make you insignificant. You are each made up of millions of parts, but that does not make you derivative. You as a species, as a person are wholly unique and loved by me, now and forever more."

"Second, the societies humans build are not separate from nature, but are part of it. You build and change your environment just as much as any one of your siblings do. The materials you use do not make it different. I just hope someday that you integrate your other siblings' environments into yours." 

"Third, nature is change and change is natural. My children are always changing and adapting and evolving. Both their bodies and their spirits. Stagnation is the ultimate rejection of nature, the supreme poison. Stagnation is to be avoided if possible, and fought against if necessary."

"Four, all beings are a reflection of nature's sacredness. But do not be scared that by consuming nature, you are desecrating it. All of my children have their cycles of life, and in their death, their body gifts sustenance, their spirit gifts life. But it is a gift must be repaid in some way."

"Five, relate to other species and the land as you would your family. From the smallest microbe to the biggest fish, each blade of grass and every bird in the sky, you all share the same breath I gave. All of you are loved and cherished by me."

"Six, this role has been subverted by your obsession with domination and endless growth. Your societies are full of many forms of this illness, and from these societies you have built, the virus of domination and endless growth continues its spread."

"Seven, domination over each other is unnatural, and must be replaced with free association among all parts of nature. You as humans build this virus and the systems which let it grow; you as my children can replace those systems and kill it. You must replace domination with free association between the members of your species and with your other siblings, as the rest of them already do."

"Eight, your instinct for mutual aid is a natural instinct. As it is for all of my children. The idea that competition is what's natural is part of the virus. Reciprocity is what unites our family together, not conflict."

"Nine, nature cannot be owned. It must be shared and maintained by all. You cannot own your sibling, nor can you own my body. You must share it in common between all and all must care for it. It is how you honor your siblings and how you honor your mother."

"Is that all?" I asked. "What about sins? Death? Meaning of life?" 

She laughed. "My precocious child, patience! Let me finish."

Deep in my body, shame bubbled, as if I was a child caught stealing a cookie.

"Don't feel shame for curiosity my child. It is what drew you to my call in the first place," She continued. "There are six great offenses you can do to your siblings and your mother."

"The first and greatest is Stagnation, trying to stop change or go back to some past time. By attempting to hold back the tide of evolution, you kill your mother, your siblings, and yourself. You kill our bodies, our minds, our spirits."

"The second is Domination. By attempting to dominate your siblings or your mother, you not only harm them, but yourself with its poison. No hierarchy is just, no ruler good. Domination leads to stagnation always."

"The third is Discrimination. To judge and hate your sibling leads only to disaster. It rots your mind and body with its affliction, transforming you into an abominable shell of yourself. Discrimination leads to domination always." 

"The fourth is Greed. To try and hoard more than you need while your siblings hungers starves all. To try and grow without limit only leads to the degradation of all. Greed leads to discrimination always."

"The fifth is Apathy. To stand idle while others suffer makes one no better than the abuser. To be meek in the face of injustice only leads to its propagation. Apathy leads to greed always."

"The last is Isolation. To isolate yourself from your mother and your siblings only leads to your own doom. For without all working together equally, we all suffer. Isolation leads to apathy always."

"All harm spawns from these, but not all offenses are worthy of damnation. For lesser offenses, let the offended make the terms of forgiveness, and let the offender follow those terms without expecting any. Only then will the offense be healed for all."

"What about the offenses that are worthy of damnation?" I said

"Then their spirit will stay stuck and rotting, unable to divide and reform as something new. Unless those they've wronged have forgiven them, they shall remain whole and alone. Some stay with their rotting body, others wander the earth in search of salvation," She said. "Some eventually move on, but those whose dishonor is unforgivable by all are doomed to be degraded until their very spirit is but a shameful whisper."

"What can any of us do to honor you or our siblings?" 

"There are many ways to honor us all. Offering and prayer is one way. Reciprocity is innate to all my children. If you tell your siblings about your problems and give them an offering or promise to, they will listen and help. Likewise, do the same onto them."

"Acts of devotion are another, to do activities in our honor. Whether that be, from cleaning up your siblings homes or fighting for them, they will see and act in kind for you when you most need it."

"Discussion is paramount. Talk about your beliefs together, write about how you honor us and publish it, be open to disagreements and differences. But discuss your life as well. Joke with the tree that shades your home, sing a tune for the bushes on your walk, talk about your joys and sorrows with the rivers and wind."

"So we're supposed to do this alone? I thought isolation was the first step to stagnation?" I asked.

"Hardly. If possible, do it collectively with your fellow believers. Clean a creek together to honor me and your siblings who use it. Grow a community garden and give the fruits of your labor to the less fortunate. Share stories, beliefs, and practices together. It is the best way to honor us all."

"But what if I am alone in this worship?"

"You are not, you are merely isolated from your like minded siblings. Do not worry about worshiping alone until you find them."

"And when I tell them about you, what name shall I use?" I asked

"You can call me Gaia."

A car horn blew and with it, some sacred feeling was shattered. The harsh city heat sun seeped back into my world.

"It seems my time with you right now has been cut short," She said. Around me, the trees lost their leaves, fell, and rotted. The animals fled for better lands. Their pace was not out of agile fear or quick rage, but a slow march of mourning.

She laughed again, musical as ever, but weak. I heard that bittersweet song once before. "My child, I am not leaving you," She said, her voice fragile as a blade of grass. "I will be there in the earth you walk upon, the air you breathe, in summer rain and winter snow. I am in all my children. Perhaps you will not hear from me again, but you will feel me wherever you go." The bushes crumbled into kindling, the leaves into tinder.

"But what if I forget your truths?" I asked. The grass itself was receding, leaving nothing but bare dirt. "What if my words fail to convince my siblings?"

"You won't," She said, her weak voice full of joy and unfounded pride. "I believe in you, my child. Trust me." 

I felt my heart shatter and mix with the blood of my siblings. Then all that was left was the dandelion.

"Farewell, my child," she said in barely a whisper. "Believe in me and your siblings."

And then she was gone.

I don't know how long I knelt there, my tears attempting to revive her. After I had no more sorrow left to give, I looked up. I found myself once again in the abandoned lot, the sun where it was before. I picked myself up and began my task.

While writing this, I walked past the lot again. It's now blanketed in Dandelions; a quilt of yellow and green, carefully sewn to wrap the scarred earth. I couldn't help but to smile. For Gaia blesses even the most forgotten.