Heal the Soil
Text version below
First, we must ask, “what is soil?”
How we answer this question will lead us down two very different paths.
The first path will be simple, easy to understand, eventually dark, and then twisted.
The second path will be painful, difficult, often upsetting, and ultimately fulfilling.
What is soil?
Soil is an all powerful being that resides beneath our feet. From her all gifts arise. She is the mother of all who walk, and she currently lives in a state of perpetual abuse.
Who is her abuser?
Us. The people who walk of two legs. We have become disconnected from her. We no longer stand with her; we stand over her, we stand upon her, subjugating her through our artifice.
We must return to her. Return to Nature. We have been bad, and she is all that is good. We need to heal the soil, as much of it as we can, as fast as we can.
Round up the farmers! They control the land. They own the land. Tell them of their trespasses, of their complicity in soil’s destruction.
And tell them there is a path to salvation! They can heal the soil, and if they do, they will be forgiven their past.
We can be natural once again. We can live the way nature intended.
Nature has created us perfect. Her plan is clear, fixed, you see.
Man was given a penis. Women a vagina. A penis must only go in a vagina.
Man was given muscles, for controlling, dominating. Women were given a womb, for birthing, mothering. Man must dominate woman and child.
Some men are white and pure like the snow. Others dark and scary as the night. The color of skin reflects your nature.
Your nature is fixed.
Nature’s laws are fixed.
Return to Nature.
Nature's always right.
What is soil?
who is soil?
I have seen soil exists beneath my feet. I have enjoyed walking upon her daily. From her body, I have seen arise the plants, who I see make their bodies of soil. I have seen the ants, the birds, the animals make their bodies of the plants. I too, build my body of these plants, as well do I eat those birds and animals.
I am soil.
Yesterday, I have dug up soil. From her body I have formed clay and brick and concrete and steel. From these forms I have built my home, where I talk story to my children, where I lay with my lover, and where I form my living.
My home is soil.
As I walk through my city, I marvel at the roads that seem to have no end, the buildings who are tall enough to scratch the clouds, and the many, many people. When I consider what makes up the bodies of all these forms, my experience tells me that just as I have been made and just as my home has been made, this city has been made.
My city is soil.
We are all soil. All of this Earth is earth.
When I consider the pain within me, the pain of my experience, and the pan of my ancestors, I feel that pain embedded and expressed in all the Earth that forms my body.
I feel it here in my chest, my shoulders, my neck. I feel it in my home. In the cries of my wife and the sorrows of my children, and in the very walls made of scorched earth. I feel it in my work; in the callous ways we must treat each other to secure our bread. I feel it in the screaming and retching of our leaders, who seem to feel nothing for the people they lead.
I feel this pain in all the body of my Earth. In all our soil. And I search and pray for our healing.
What is the healing that we need?
Surely, the ground from which our food emerges must be nourished. What of the rest of our soil-body? How shall I heal the pain of my ancestors, forced from their land, crossing the ocean in hope of a less painful place, only to land on ground similarly dispossessed of her caregivers? What nourishment do I need for this pain I carry? Are you willing to help me find it?
What of my sisters and mothers, told from their first breath only of who they can’t be and who they should be? What of the children never taught their own history, only the history of their captors? What of the soldiers sent to sacrifice limbs for profitable paper?
Is the soil of their bodies not in need of healing? Does Earth not ask for this healing?
What I have seen in the garden of my city is that we do not arise from soil; we are soil given form.
That we are not connected by threads; we exist as the threads of a woven body.
We tear and heal together.