If the nature was gone, would we miss it?

[Pausha Foley]

It is wonderful to be outside. I begin to believe that living in houses really wasn't such a good idea. It is so spacious, so open, so unguarded to just be out in the world where trees are, where birds are, where the sky is.

Working in my yard today was such a pleasure. I was pulling generations of old, dried ferns out of the ground. It was not an easy task, they resisted, clung to the earth with all their might and did all they could to become slippery and fragile, twisting, bending and crumbling, doing anything to defy me. I was pulling really hard, slipped and collapsed on the ground, laughing. The bed of ferns I fell on top of was cool, soft and fragrant, the smell of fresh, moist earth exhilarating, and the sky was so gorgeous, and I was happy.

My yard needs a lot of work. When we moved to this house, about a year and a half ago, the yard was a disaster. Hardly anything was still alive, what was alive was hopelessly overgrown and tangled. We put some work into cutting and pulling the brambles, cleaning out the space for new plants ... and ... we got busy. From time to time we would realize that the yard needs landscaping but neither of us had any experience with plants, there was so much work, we had no time, there were other priorities, we were too tired. The yard continued to look bare, dusty and dismal and we knew that something should be done, that it should get fixed. Occasionally we would plan to call someone, get someone to come and do something, but we never quite got to it.

Which is why my recent and sudden love of gardening was surprising, not to say strange. I spent hours outside those last two weeks digging, planting, watering, pruning. I enjoyed myself so thoroughly that it took me over a week to register that this is not like me. Not only working in the yard is not quite normal, but even more strange is me doing it for pleasure, because I like it, because I am happy doing it.

This is what happened, I realized, this is what's different. Before the yard was a duty, it was something that had to be done. It was a space that didn't work for me esthetically, and needed to get fixed.

But today, as I was pruning roses and cutting faded geranium blooms, there was such a peaceful, spacious, restful space. The kind of space that really close friends enjoy, friends who can sit together in silence for hours simply being in each other's presence, feeling the connection. I felt that my house was surrounded by friends. I didn't need to talk to them, just being with them was enough. Letting go of my mind, relaxing my body, and simply enjoying being alive.

And it made me wonder - why do we want to save Earth? Why do we want to save nature? Is it because we believe we should? Because it's our duty? Because it's the "right thing to do"? Is it because we are really, really scared and want to save our collective butts? Is it because we need nature to survive?

And if we didn't need nature to survive, if it could collapse without taking us with it - would we miss it? Would there be a hole in our lives, a hole that's left when a loved one is gone?

Do we actually like nature? Do we enjoy it's company? Or do we simply use it for whatever it is we need?

Our mind would have us act out of fear. It would have us be terrified of an imminent danger, always ready to defend ourselves, to fight for survival. Our mind would have us act because we should, because we need to, because we have to, because it's right, it's a duty, it's an obligation, because it is our job.

But when we let go of the mind, when we come back to who we are, who we really are, I believe we act because we like it, because it feels really good, because we really enjoy it, because it's fun.

[Jacob Rønnow Jensen]

I'm reminded of "The Giving Tree" - a childrens story by Shel Silverstein. Below you'll find a brief storyline:

The Giving Tree story is a short tale about a relationship between a young boy and a tree in a forest. The tree always provides the boy with what he wants: branches on which to swing, shade in which to sit, apples to eat, branches with which to build a home. As the boy grows older he requires more and more of the tree. The tree loves the boy very much and gives him anything he asks for. In the ultimate act of self-sacrifice, the tree lets the boy cut her down so the boy can build a boat in which he can sail. The boy leaves the tree, now a stump. Many years later, the boy, now an old man, returns and the tree says, "I have nothing left to give you." The boy replies that all he needs is a quiet place to sit and rest. The tree happily obliges.

[Pausha Foley]

Ha, come to think of it - I just might!
:)

[Christer Soderberg]

I might be sounding like a broken record, but that is precisely what our "Replanting a Rainforest" project in Brazil is all about; project to plant trees, retreat to participate and "partner" with nature on this 850 hectare (2000 acre) coffee plantation from 1850, with patches of rainforest with trees that are over 2000 years old (check events in October and November). Join us!

[Pausha Foley]

There is also the possibility of humanity being in partnership with nature. If that could happen not only nature would be taken care of but humans could be much happier.

[Christer Soderberg]

It sounds like you speak "nature talk", and nature is listening. This is a great line of thought for the debate on the environment; does humanity need nature? Does nature need humanity? - I would like to think we need each other, although the actions of humanity are saying differently.