The Earth has a way of making you feel small. We’ve all had those moments where under a meteor shower, being tossed like a ragdoll by a wave, or standing at the summit of a mountain we feel it—awe. Awe describes that uniquely human experience of feeling very very small against the backdrop of the Earth and Universe.
The Earth makes us feel small because experiences of awe force to our waking consciousness that we are not in control. This can be both fearful and wonderful. As a human family, we have shaped the world after our own image and stamped the landscape with our anthropocentrism. Leaving behind fields of tree stumps, oil choked creatures, and radioactive soil. We could use a good lesson in our own smallness in the face of the collective Earth family.
Bigger Than Me
I have been made to feel very small by the events of the last few months. Australia on fire, Coronavirus plaguing the world, and an earthquake in my backyard. Times are strange.
And it isn’t just me that’s feeling small. As I write this, the entire global community is in the anxious grips of a pandemic. Coronavirus has brought the world to a near standstill. Global markets are in historic downfall, quarantines are being imposed, and seemingly overnight the lie of rugged individualism came crashing down. Not in living memory has the human family experienced anything quite like this.
I’m lucky enough to have a job that allows me to work from home which I’ve been doing for the last week or so. Working from home is easy enough so long as I have a computer and a decent internet connection. But I have many friends who aren’t as fortunate. In a matter of days, their lives went from being fairly commonplace to woefully uncertain. And they aren’t alone. All across America and around the planet, there are many others who are now without work, finances, or healthcare.
Oh and did I mention that in the middle of this pandemic, Utah had the largest earthquake in nearly 20 years? In the early hours of March 18th, a 5.65 earthquake rattled Salt Lake City and surrounding areas. Having never experienced an earthquake but being raised knowing The Big One is imminent, I was of course very shaken. While there were no injuries and only minor property damage was sustained, it certainly has us asking “what else?”
Peace in My Backyard
Earthquakes and pandemics are similar in that I clearly have no control over them. Aftershocks are going to rumble and the coronavirus is going to spread. I only have control over my response. And my response in this first week has been a lot of anxiety and fear. As this is my first taste of generalized,ever-present anxiety, this constant stress sucks. I have new-found empathy and compassion for my friends and family who deal with anxiety disorders all the time.
But there’s some small silver lining running through and underneath it all. When the Earth makes us feel small it also makes us feel small together. The awe of the Milky Way is that you are a part of, not apart from something so miraculously enormous. As the lie of individualism crumbles around us, it is more important than ever to believe in the truth of community. We are all in this together. And together we can get through this.
Finally, the world has an excuse to slow down and see that life offers more to those who move through it slowly. Walks through the neighborhood, spending precious time with family, and getting to know the birds in your back yard. On the other side of pandemics and earthquakes is an enriched life brimming with what matters most.
For myself, I’ve always wanted to take the time to watch spring arrive in my backyard. I want to be present as insects wake up and fresh leaves see the sunlight for the first time. I want to name the squirrels that run through the trees in my front yard and plant a garden on time for once.
After befriending the natural community of my yard, I am reminded that out there is a world beautifully wild and blissfully present. And it brings me peace. Though pandemics may brew and the earth may shake, the sun will always set, birds will always sing, and flowers will always freshen a morning breeze. The wild will be there waiting to heal us throughout and forever.
I’ll leave you with you my favorite poem by Wendell Berry, The Peace of Wild Things:
“When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.”