A Letter From The Earth


Dear (Your Name Here),

I know you’ve already received a Letter From Your Life, but as 2011 ends, I thought it was pertinent that I wrote something too.

News Flash: I am not ending in 2012. You humans really are a pompous bunch to think that you have an effect on the length of my existence. And at the other end of the spectrum, stop trying to save me. I’m not a helpless child. I’ve been here for 4.5 billion years and I certainly don’t need your help now. So let’s get some facts straight:

The sun does not set. Give me some credit. I do a back flip and bid the sun adieu everyday. You are my guest on this space ship ride through the galaxy.

If you’re in New York, every 24 hours you travel:

  • 19,200 miles on one of my rotations
  • 1.6 million miles as I hurtle around the sun
  • 11.83 million miles we careen around the center of the Milky Way.

That’s right. All in a day. Things are moving fast, just like the time you have left to enjoy me.

So stop trying to save me. Save a moment.

I am beautiful with or without you here.
I have the seas, the mountains and the plains.
I have sink holes, caverns and caves.
I have deep sea vents, Edelweiss and marshlands.
I have volcanoes, subduction zones and geysers.
I have insects, mammals and birds.
I will be, with or without you, and I will be beautiful. You can’t change me at the core (both figuratively and literally), I’ve been here for too long.

Don’t try to change me, change the moment you’re in.

I tilt at 23 degrees to give you seasons so you can see that in the leaves changing color,death has never been so beautiful, and that all things ebb and flow, not just the tides.

The snow will fall
the sun will shine
the wind will blow
and the ice will melt.

And somewhere in that repetition of to-and-fro, the pendulum will stop swinging in your life, just like it will for the polar bears, the tigers and for all species before you. And one day, long after you’re gone, something might use the liquid that is left over from the anaerobic decomposition of your body to fuel its contraptions as you have done to those organisms that have lived before you.

It’s the feedback loop of existence. Sorry, I need to recycle things. Yes, even you.

So enjoy me and all of the wonders I can offer, but don’t insult me with your attempts to try and save me. The only things you can save are:

  • the length of time you have on this roller coaster
  • how you treat each other along the way
  • and if you’re lucky, how you passed your baton off to those you leave behind.

You can be better today.
You can live more respectfully.
You can save kindness
You can save thoughtfulness.
You can save laughter.
You can save purpose.
You can save joy.
You can save a moment.

You can use all the elements and resources I give you to make your collective experience more enjoyable or you can strip me naked and cause strife for those that share my space with you. Your choice. But remember, I’ll be fine either way. I’ll get a new set of clothes eventually.

I hope you enjoy the ride. I’ve worked hard creating something magical. Go explore me. Be curious while you have the chance because your stop to get off the ride is coming relatively soon. But me? I’m gonna keep going for a while. I like what I’ve built.

Don’t save me, save the enjoyment of the things you get out of me. That’s all you can do.


Mother Earth

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