The Earth to Me

The Earth to me is... what?

Yeah I can leave the house. I can
escape the walls, hit the mall,
maybe once or twice be a tourist.

Everything of the newness, shine, and
flair of Disneyworld. Or American Eagle.

-- from "The Earth to Me"

It's funny. You ask "What does the Earth mean to you?" and expect vague tributes to the environment. "Shards of light strike the colorful canyon" or some such thing. It's hard to remember the question is that of the Book of Genesis. What did the Earth mean when God walked in the Garden of Eden, sharing it with Adam and Eve? Could it mean the same thing as being afraid to leave the house?

Not wanting to leave the house comes into my life like the most subtle haunting. Not a poltergeist banging the cabinet doors, or a ghost hiding the objects I most need. Rather, a constant, insidious set of suggestions. Everything you need to do can be done at the computer; you've met enough people today; you don't need to spend any more money. By themselves, these aren't too bad. But too many of them for too long congeals into a poison. Why spend money when you could spend the next 6 hours gaming? Why gamble with a potential accident? Why risk meeting anyone else?

And then I'm there, in front of the mind-numbing blue light of the screen, staring for change. I might be scrolling headlines, looking for the take that says exactly what I should be saying. Or losing to the same boss 8 times in a row. Maybe if I roll to the side instead of back, his meat cleaver will miss me. Nope. This does not end. The fear of light and grass has transformed into crude comfort. These terrible patterns don't ask me for anything other than my presence. They will certainly bless me with the change I need.

When I reflect a bit more, I can't help but believe it a miracle we go anywhere or do anything. It's not hard to delude ourselves that repetition leads to originality. That mindless, isolated repetition is an insistence of the self, opening new doors through persistence. It's not always the wrong thought. Currently, I am trying to do more of what works for me. But it is an incomplete thought, devastating in certain circumstances.

"Yeah I can leave the house. I can / escape the walls, hit the mall / maybe once or twice be a tourist."

I am not sure exactly what beats fear, especially fear combined with the lazy assumption this is working. But I do know I have asked myself "Why am I being a big baby?" and it has spurred me to action. To at least take a walk, to go to the mall, to be a tourist.

Nowadays I have much more appreciation for tourism. It can be a start for getting to know other places, other people. To be sure, we do hear about fancy vacations as a demonstration of class status, and I don't deny that tourism often devolves into commercialized sets of experiences. "You had to be there" is a great way of telling someone you bought something they cannot possibly obtain.

But let's say you want to know how other people live. What they enjoy, what they celebrate. I'm still impressed by the portrait of civic virtue drawn for me by history students in Montreal. Trade unionists, those who saved orphans, those who helped the city in crises featured heavily. Down the highway from me in Odessa is a tribute to Chris Kyle. The United States has a different view of what service to the community is, you might say.

My experience in Montreal started as that of a tourist. I wasn't looking through archives or speaking at length with experts. I went, did the thing everyone else did, and learned that another country is just that. If I can cast away the fear, however briefly, I can glimpse something else.

"Everything of the newness, shine, and / flair of Disneyworld. Or American Eagle."

To be a tourist, though, suggests limits. Something about the time in Montreal went beyond paying for services or indulging hospitality. I actually don't remember anything with the "newness, shine, and / flair of Disneyworld," not because it wasn't there, but because I wasn't looking for it. I was more interested in hearing from those who lived there.

There is an earthiness, I think, which isn't mud and dirt and trees. Nor flowers which look like they have been cultivated by master gardeners. It's more like weeds poking out of a crack in the sidewalk, or a nest on a branch which doesn't seem stable. An earthiness which connects all beings that are fighting to live.

I'm not going to say that the dignity of a given creature has to do with their desire to fight. Many have judged others unworthy of life by making crap up about their willingness to work. It's not right and that sort of thinking is best abolished.

I do want to say that when we recognize the Earth, we recognize and respect what rightly leaves an imprint. Dogs and cats approach us to say hi. Many go to work to make sure others have more. We step out to see more. It's the simplicity of that "fight," that brief moment of abandoning fear, that I'm speaking to. That I'm trying, carefully, to not use as a basis for judgment. You can certainly be scared as long as it isn't hurting others. But to fully be on this Earth, you may have to step into it.