• Tuesday, October 05th, 2010

Pardon me. I have never bothered to talk with you since I was born 79 years ago. It’s like a flower never talking to its roots and like a cloud never talking to the ocean. Like CNN broadcasting silence.

Why does the cat have my tongue? Why do I never talk to “You,” the elephant in my living room? You’re not invisible. My bed rests on you. I walk and drive on you. My heart pumps your living water.

You are talked about, but not talked to. I say, “Good soil, lovely tree, beautiful sky.” My amnesia is like never getting beyond “Hey, listen up about the woman I married” while talking to my wife.

The Bible models second person avoidance. “Let the earth put forth vegetation. Let the earth bring forth living creatures.”  English usage since the time of Shakespeare has named you, but has kept you in a first or third person jail cell.

Our culture knows, religiously and scientifically, that we earthlings live, and move, and have our being within your global sphere.  You’re the awesome birth mother of me, and the flowers I tended and the pizza I ate today. Isn’t it enough that I have done Earth Day every year since 1970 and Earth Hour the last Saturday in March for three years?

Why do I need to be personal with You? Why converse with You? What cultural taboo will I shatter if I say, “Mother Earth, You are dear”?

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