Philosophy the Aroma of Rich Soil Fills

Philosophy

The aroma of rich soil fills my nostrils, entering my pores. Metallic yet warm, the minerals in the earth resonate with those in my body, soothing me and helping me relax deeper. My body is of the same substances as Earth: carbon-based, mineral-rich, organic. When I die I will be as dirt, soil, fertilizer. My consciousness is something else: I know not what. The earth won't tell me yet.

Birds sing where it is dawn, but not here. Cycles of night and day harmonize with cycles of moon and sun. Piercing cold in the air creates a concept in my mind of winter, time for snow and subtlety and sadness. The earth's tale and tone, though, is joyful; she loves wintertime for its purification and raw potential. Like a period of gestation, winter is womb-time. She comforts me and reminds me that the best way to plan for the future is to breathe fully now.

My breath circulates through my body like the air circulates throughout the globe, touching every atom just as my breath touches all my body's cells. The air I inhale now will never be composed of the same essence; entering me it is transformed, taken apart, broken up into pieces so my organs can place them back together like a jigsaw puzzle. Likewise, my out-breath is unique and transformative, its molecules hovering in the air far away by the time I write this, perhaps sucked in by that plant.

I ask the earth about pain and she replies with laughter and a smile. "Like is full of pain," she says with mirth. Her humor astounds me. "Look at my creatures," she reminds me. "Which of them is not funny?"