Our planet is alive.
Onyx bleeds from the ground, oozes
between cracks, and courses in subterranean veins like blood flowing through a
living organism; the blue planet breathes and shifts in tectonics. As the core
of earth becomes upset and unstable, volcanic eruptions nauseously project
through into open air.
Our planet is alive.
Earth defends its precious resources
using gravity, temperature, and weather. Human beings, each and every one
seeking conquer the immense physicality of this celestial body, cower in the
midst of earthquakes and tropical storms. The green world drops its guard as
spikes, hammers, and pickaxes perforate its rocky skin, reaping the rewards of
lonely millennia spent perfecting its art--dubbed and curated
"Nature."
Our planet is alive.
Giving paranthropus robustus sapience
to always build bigger, stronger, and better, Earth has refined our shape as if
by parental guidance. Stone cave walls have metamorphosed to marble countertops:
an assisted refining impossible without natural materials. From straw huts to
castles, imaginative architectural masterpieces stem only from the ability to
fathom luster of stone.
Our planet is alive.
As its reigning bacteria form, humans
have gained all precedence over other living creatures that dig its
grounds. As reward, we dig deeper than all. Are we the protectors or the
destroyers? We erect refined monuments, as if giving Earth jewelry for its terrestrial
surface.
Our planet is alive.
Without our heavenly body, nothing
is possible. We cannot fathom our selves, our arts, or our sciences: all those
belonging and based on our sensual perceptions of the Earth's elaborate daily
presentation of reality. As Earth respires, we inhale its breath, that breath
smelling of ocean breeze and salt mines. Earth gives us eyes to see
colours of sunsets; it screams sounds of howling wind; it weeps as rains; Earth
has its own odorous smells of gaseous emittance and its salty skin tastes the
same as ours.
Earth is alive.
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