On Oil Ending and Shiny Rocks
The raven still flies, the moose still munches grass, the bear still fishes, and the salmon still swims. The tree continues to stretch into the sky as man dismantles our invasion into their habitat. Roughnecks dismantle oil platforms as the polar bear, stranded on an piece of sea ice, wonders if it will ever get to walk on land again.
Gold and copper sit untouched at the bottom of the Bristol Bay. The orca swimming over it, the crab walking on it, the salmon running above it pay it no mind; just shiny rocks to them. Oil, minerals, trees, and animal, no longer being used by man for their selfish gains, continue to exist, long after man has abandoned their pursuit.
The tree outside your window, the grass in your parks, and the water flowing through your tap existed long before you did and will exist long after you are gone. We are blips on the radar of Earth's history. Why must we make that blip dark, twisted, manipulative, exploitative, and hurtful?
We share this planet with the raven and the bear. They rely on each other for survival, an unspoken agreement. No animal outside of a zoo or a rehab center relies on humans for anything. They watch as we bulldoze their homes, destroying trees that were there long before the operator of the bulldozer was even a sperm in his father's testicles.
Why are we surprised when the Earth that we share, the spaceship in which we orbit the sun and all of creation, wants us to get off? Our carbon, our plastic, our creations, twisted from the raw material given to us without question, lies on top of her, covering her beauty. We are not grateful for the Earth, we use her. She is love and light, the center of our being, our spaceship. Treat her right or she'll kick us out of the airlock and hang out with her moose, raven, and bear friends. The moose is nice but bad at conversation, the bear sleeps all the time, and the raven is always making her own jokes and laughing at them, but they are all better than the human who thrust their shovel into her soil, turned it, extracted copper, and left the tailing there, material that they call "garbage" when the Earth calls it "my gift and bounty, all of me, for you to use."








