They do not understand, and likely never will.
We are all alive, you know. All of us. Arranged in a hierarchy that never ends. The humans, bipedal, itty-bitty life forms, who live on my skin, play intellectual games, such as, “What if the Universe is alive?” “What if the planet is alive?” “What if the ocean is alive?”
It remains a mental exercise for them, nothing more.
They look at my lakes, surrounded by forests, grasslands, even piles of rock, and that’s all they see. A lake. A body of water. They don’t understand, I like to look at the stars at night, just like they do. They don’t understand, I watch the clouds of my breath. They call them clouds. “Masses of water vapor.”
No kidding. Just like the ones they make when they breathe out. The ones that fog their glasses, or tell them it’s cold. They don’t understand it’s me, breathing out.
The Humans don’t realize how their world works, don’t realize they are simple cells of a much larger life form. I find that fascinating. How, through their science, they’ve learned their bodies are made of tiny cells, and those cells are made of tinier parts, and those parts are made of even smaller parts, like proteins, DNA, RNA, and other molecules. They’ve learned that molecules are made of atoms, which are made of protons, neutrons, and electrons, which in turn are made of subatomic particles, including quarks.
It has never occurred to them that rocks are made of the same particles. So are grasses, fish, trees, dirt, and everything else. They can’t connect the dots, or perhaps, it’s more like they refuse to connect the dots, to see how they are part of my microbiome. Like the microbiome of their digestive tracts. Like the individual systems of their bodies, circulatory, nervous, skeletal. Like their organs. All made from specialized life forms. All those forms, working together to make a much larger life form.
For them, it all stops at their scale. At what they perceive as being similar to them. Some big, like whales. Some small, like mice. All, unique life forms. All made from cells, made from molecules, made from atoms, made from unimaginably small bits of matter and energy.
They don’t see the rivers, the lakes, the oceans, as life forms. Organs. Parts of something larger. Like their own hearts, blood vessels, veins, arteries, and even tiny capillaries. They don’t see me. Or the parts that make me. And they don’t see, and don’t realize, they are only a part of me.
It will be their end. As it has been their end before. As it will be their end over and over again. They are so small. So limited. They can’t see history. They can’t see the endless times they have sought their technologies, their civilizations, that which they call power, without understanding that my body, my immune system, my t-cells, and white blood cells, bring them back into their place, so they don’t harm me, don’t kill me.
I remember names of their worlds. Atlantis. Gobekli Tepe. Even the cities they had before the great flood 10,000 of their years ago. A flood that destroyed all their records, all their art, buildings, books, cities, everything. And left nothing but a few stones, scattered here and there.
I hope, some day, they learn, so I can use them to reach out to the other worlds, around other stars. So the other stars, and their solar systems full of planets, asteroids, dust, and gas, can join with our star, and the other worlds here. And become a community.
But, sometimes, with how humans are, I wonder if that will ever happen.
Holy crumbs! It’s been a while since I wrote for Miranda Kate’s Mid-Week Challenge! But, I saw the picture for week 215 of Miranda Kate‘s Mid-Week Challenge and knew what I had to try to write. You can learn about Miranda’s challenge here. The stories people share for the weekly challenge are always little works of art, crafted with words, meant to be shared, and enjoyed.