What on earth

Tonight, as I write this, on Dec. 20, the moon is outside my window, beautiful, constant and new. She looks full or is about to be full. I know from some distant memory that Christmas is tied to the fullness of the moon. There is synchronicity there  in the belief that the fullness of the sky is an indication of the possibility of our own fullness when Christmas comes.

There is still a feeling of mystery when we look at the heavens, in spite all that we have discovered about the physical dimension of our world. We look at sun, moon, earth and sky, and something in us responds to truths that cannot be always enunciated or that are not always logical. I read my horoscope not so much because it’s infallible but because I am mesmerized by the idea that my very self is tied to something billions of light years away. What could be a more enchanting belief? But, truly, the earth must have a kind of DNA too, and since we are colleagues in creation, surely there is something in them that is in me, too?

Looking at the moon in all her loveliness, I am taken to science class back in grade school, the explanation of the teacher regarding the rotations of the earth, and its revolution around the sun. In Grade 3, I was the Earth and was told to move around the Sun ever so slowly, to illustrate how a year is formed. (The teacher admonished me to make my steps as small as possible!) In Grade 5, our bodies were replaced by styrofoam balls to explain the same principles and this time I was mesmerized  not just by the sheer design of it but more by the relentlessness of the world to keep on turning, never tired, with no regard to what it could cause to happen in the world.

We can accuse life of many things, transgressions even, but not so the earth. Its rotations and revolutions are without bias. It was John Donne who said, “But trepidation of the spheres, though greater far, is innocent.”

Lately, I will have to admit, I have been thinking of the earth. How its rotations cause change, how it moves time, how it gives and takes. I am reminded of a map exhibit I once toured abroad. The exhibit showed the changes the earth had taken and how continents and countries were made and demarcated. I began to appreciate the slowness of time  its “snail-pacedness” and its ruthlessness as well. For example, I was already grown-up when Mt. Pinatubo spew forth and know firsthand how the earth’s quake changed the landscape so quickly. And yet, how strange that in all those years going home, we wondered why our soil was so different. Little did we know that it was the ash fall from hundreds of years ago. My forebears bore that and I bore it as well. Even the earth suffers from a lack of originality sometimes.

Apart from the gift of rotation, gravity is the other gift of earth. Without it, we would be rootless, unable to plant ourselves and fruit. Gravity keeps us close to the earth and reminds us that we do not belong to the sky. Our final resting place is on earth. Gravity reminds me of our own need to set things on stone, to fight the “unbearable lightness of being” by making ourselves weighty, to the point that it becomes impossible for us to move. We presume that things will always be the way they are, forgetting that even as we enjoy gravity, we do not know what the earth’s movements may bring.

Human beings set their lives on this dynamic of certainty and uncertainty and it is an act of pure bravery. Remember that song about the man who built his house on sand? The song teaches us to always build on rock to keep us safe. But we know this is not always true. Even rock can betray us. Is this perhaps why we look to the sky for redemption? If we cannot rely on what we stand on, might it be more wise to put our faith in the sky?

Perhaps this is what makes human life so beautiful. We are in danger, truly, but we face the danger with a courage the heavens cannot boast of. We take for granted that the earth will continue to rotate and that gravity will keep us safe. We build, we create, we plan, we dream, but most of all, we believe  in the benevolence of the earth, the sun, the sky, and ourselves.