Chapter 1 

The Earth, certainly, was a privileged point of view. It saw itself as the only large thing glowing with life. We did at any rate, we who inhabited her, the many who were spewed out in various generations, among various tendencies and clothing, among different enemies and structures. We had all pissed on the ground, we had all played with toys. There was the same moon. The water tasted fresh. The blackberries smelled good. We saw hideous things but the bountifulness of life always took us away from the hideous. The fathers always said this, the mothers always said that. Light and shimmering dark. Sun seed in everyday doings. The clatter of utensils intermingled with excited voices, far, near. We knew little else.

It rotated with aplomb with its awakeners and sleepers. There was a blanket of light and then clouds. Light from itself, we, lit up and daily winding along the grind and light from the sun flecking off a bit to shower a tell-tale half a day.

Privilege, of course, is a pretext to keeping doubt out of the way. So when we escaped the gravitational pull and saw the dear planet whole as they used to say there was doubt. Not about the beauty of the thing experienced but of its singularity as an event in the life of the universe. A few went nuts trying to figure it out or came up with lame imaginings used to sell books and tapes. They didn’t know. Their hearts were in the right place, their intuitions were right on target but they always got the grand configuration wrong.

Around and around it went puffed out with its light, forgetful of itself, mocking the worlds, knowing how long she had been, how much longer she would be.

David Eide
January 24, 2014