By INGRID MCCLEARY
I'm a member of the First United Methodist Church on Old San Francisco Road here in Sunnyvale. There we have a booklet called "Social Principles: The United Methodist Church" which begins like the preamble to the Constitution of the United States : "We, the people..." Here is an excerpt from it that I think applies to everyone, regardless of our religious beliefs, because it speaks to us as the human race.
It says, "All creation is the Lord's, and we are responsible for the ways in which we use and abuse it. Water, air, soil, minerals, energy resources, plants, animal life and space are to be valued and conserved because they are God's creation and not solely because they are useful to human beings. We recognize the responsibility toward lifestyle and systemic changes in society that will promote a more ecologically just world and a better quality of life for all creation."
That reflects our responsibility as human beings. Here is a reflection of one human being's--mine:
If I sit still and calm my mind, perhaps at the ocean's edge, where waves rush to caress my ankles, where I sift star grains through my fingers and touch prismed colors in abalone shells, where I hear seagulls cry and the ocean sigh, yes, here I'll hear it.
Or perhaps tucked in a forest niche where pine needles form my rest, where light rendezvous with whispering ferns and blue jays spring from place to place with agile grace and squirrels own the trees, yes, here too I'll hear it.
Or perhaps amid a high sierra meadow, where weeds reign in primal hues and the ground gives beneath my weight, where I find a fallen redwood halfway returned to the land, yes, here perhaps most of all is where I'll hear it best.
This is where I'll notice another hiker and wave. That, but nothing more, because here that person is no more important than the hawk signing its initials in the sky or the newt blinking in the noon sun. A human being here is no more than the wind I only see when it brushes against another living thing, no more than the buck grazing on blades of free grass, no more than the grass. No more, but no less.
Yes, here, in this moment, if I sit still and calm my mind, I'll hear the song of my spirit connecting all of Heaven with all of Earth.
It is these places I come to with my spouse, where each of us, together, yet apart, soon hears the unique song: the song which lulls us, which sets our minds free from worry. And when we reach for each other, it is with love unburdened, love untethered.
It is these moments I share with my children when we go camping, hiking, beachcombing. I sit, content, and watch my children explore their Earth. I can almost see their own golden song descend from Heaven to envelop them with love. To see my children unfettered, with their natural curiosity leading them deeper into nature's wonder, is a joy to behold.
I strive to keep that connection between Heaven and Earth alive for them, because as they grow, they'll need that song to sustain them. And when I send them off into the world, I'll be comforted in the knowledge that each has learned to carry and call upon their own spirit song.
When I am swept away by oceansong, by land and stone beneath an opal-colored sky, when I lie upon a stretch of giving land and feel the heartbeat of the earth, that moment, when the clanging subsides and the melody begins, yes, that is when I know every day is Earth Day.
This article appeared in the Sunnyvale Sun, April 16, 1997.
©1997 Metro Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved.