If you witness the sun rising over the ocean at daybreak and see it only as “pretty” you are missing something vitally important.
The pulse of the world is elemental. It can be experienced beside vast water, at the base of tall trees, viewing distant blue-gray mountains, in meadows of sweet grasses and wildflowers, with birds flying overhead.
It might well be what moves fire before a great wind or nestled in the parched landscape waiting for rain.
Faint or pounding our earth breathes, it’s heartbeat present in the smallest of moments whether or not you are aware.
The fishes know it, so too, the bears and the deer and coyote moves by it, always.
The animals we dismiss as lesser beings than ourselves, live inside it. We humans mostly pretend. We pretend we are masters of this world, our cars and our electricity and, oh Lordy, those distracting computers and cell phones and gadgets, bent heads holding our gaze so absolutely unable to know it.
We make our games, our talk-talk, in our flimsy shells deceiving ourselves about the nature of our lives, ironic for how far from Nature we have come.
We occupy frail bodies, even those focused on muscle and prowess; one snap and we are reduced to howling.
The earth endures our attempts at destruction, bears the scars, bides it’s time. When it’s had enough it will “shake us off” (as someone I knew once said) “like fleas” and it will go on breathing, our opportunities for witness gone.