Close to the Earth

You have been here before. The econ­omy is squeez­ing a cer­tain num­ber of peo­ple out of their jobs. You notice more peo­ple mov­ing. Houses are for sale that you would not sus­pect would ever go on the mar­ket. There is no fan­fare. It all hap­pens rather quietly.

Every so often, I see a new face at the nurs­ing home — some­one I once noticed down­town. That hap­pens rather qui­etly too. Once in a while you hear about a baby being born. Some­times you see a house with bal­loons attached to the mail­box announc­ing the new mem­ber of a family.

The really impor­tant things of life have quiet lit­tle cer­e­monies or none at all. No one takes to the streets to announce the bap­tism of a per­son. Spir­i­tual changes in direc­tion (repen­tance) sel­dom make for a head­line. There is a sub­tle style to life close to the earth.

Life is lived within a power that no gov­ern­ment can con­trol. It hap­pens where there is no elec­tric­ity or run­ning water. For as vul­ner­a­ble as “prim­i­tive” life may be, it is also robust enough to pro­duce wise old men and women far from city lights. Some of the hap­pi­est peo­ple in the world live in small towns and vil­lages in Siberia, Mon­go­lia, Indone­sia, and on remote islands of the South Pacific.

One of the great­est illu­sions in the world is that peo­ple have to live like we do to be happy. A closer look in the socio-economic mir­ror may reveal exactly the oppo­site. Human life is not val­ued by most of our mea­sures. In fact, we might want to drop all of our high­brow mea­sures and get down to the essence of life: breath­ing and eating.

Breathe and eat. Embrace what­ever this is we call life. It has more value than any of the trin­kets we might attach to it or covet. Strip away the veneers. We are sim­ply here. In that alone there is enough to cel­e­brate for as long as we exist.