“the hurt, earth, hurt beautiful” –Valerie Martinez
I can’t quite figure out the syntax of this thing, but hurt Earth, beautiful the Earth, not “the” but Earth. We don’t say “the Shae,” we say Shae. Yes we need homespace and this hurt Earth throbs up to me from the ground. All the barking beds, forks in lawns (a multi-perforation). On 20th Avenue, plastic cutlery stabbed downward, knives and forks for eating the soil. I saw this.
I’ll be walking, or laying on the porch, bared soles to the wind, and the tree out front will curve down toward me, I’ll feel the tree pulse, pulsing, with love. This hurt Earth beautiful, but not like “you beautiful mess, you hot mess.” Those anthropocentric distractions.
Still and after all of it I feel Earth loving us through her sobbing.
The kids I teach at the middle school resist writing by hand, whine and complain, don’t want so much slow-hand, so much slow. This act is physical: pen paper, arm, and fingers. Their hands cramp with disuse. They live in their brains, in digitized landscapes. Are addicted to their computers. The big belief is that computers will save us, will better us.
I see a real distinction between technology and craft. Technology confronts the world, forces it to do things it wouldn’t do naturally. Craft belongs to a humbler, more ancient relationship with nature–going with the flow. –Christopher Manes
One can make the case that the constraint of our psyche has turned us into the Earth’s walking wounded. Brian Swimme says the modern condition–alienation and loneliness–comes from unarticulated rage that we have been so profoundly cut off from the larger reality, the universe, the sacred whole. –Charlene Spretnak
The urban proliferation of anxiety, loneliness, listlessness, etcetera–I have a name for this widespread malaise and it is Earth Hurt. Earth Hurt. My hurt heart my heart hurts and heavies, heaviness brambles, a thicket, a thimble, a woman named Thumbelina. It keeps going.