Dear Universe,
Your blessings come in many guises. At times I see your letter blowing in the wind, skittering among leaves and stones, catching in spider webs. Other times I feel the rain of your tears pouring like anguish against my windowpane, splatting large sorrowful songs against the glass. Sometimes your blessings dress up as old Finnish men wearing 70s sweaters and trackpants past their prime -- definitely not Nike because they were sewn before branding, before offshore manufacturing, before maquilladoras, before tax-free zones.
Sometimes your blessings arrive in the scent wafting from my morning coffee cup, a rich warmness that fills my wakening soul with a gentle nudge and a welcome.
Dear Universe, I know that we have made a mess of Earth. Earth -- only a small crumb in the cupboard of your mansion. We have sent tons of garbage orbiting around our atmosphere, garbage circling, circling in a cosmos stream in space. We have dumped tons and tons of waste into the waters of Earth and we daily add to this toxic mess. We fill our bodies with chemicals hidden in many different guises, some quite pleasant, some soul-satisfying and intoxicating. We shop for chemicals and eagerly bring them home to put in our kitchen cupboards, our fridges, our mouths, under the sink, in our cosmetics, on the skin of our children.
But, dear Universe, we cannot start again, nor have a second chance. So, how, dear Mother of blackness and stars and unfathomableness can we change our ways?
Our future has been written on the leaves of trees, but our trees we uproot daily in clearcuts by bulldozers and other forest machinations disrespected.
How can we read the leaves to see our future if we've torn down the trunks and shredded the body into pulp to blow our noses? Where, dear Mother do we find the clues?
love, your daughter
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