There are those who believe Humans will colonise the planets.
Others believe we’re already on an incredible spaceship hurtling through space with all the life-supports we need.
Some still believe the sun moves around the earth, at least in terms of Humans being the creatures everything else ought to bow before.
Still others believe Humans are significantly insignificant, bothering a great deal to tell us we ought not to bother.
We struggle to come to terms with Humans being truly amazing creatures in the universe – perhaps the only species to look and question and think about the universe in the way we do.
All I know is I need to push on into better understanding my place within a universe of such size and complexity, unable to deny my difference to everything else whilst understanding I am made of the same “stuff,” to be grateful for the possibility of life I have and to make the most of this, and to somehow live this out faithfully every day as long as I live to delve more deeply.
Maybe we find ourselves to be the gardener-poets of our planet, solar system and beyond: in an symbiotic relationship with our world and all inhabiting it, whilst speaking out words of wonder and amazement, but also words of love and hope and creativity, and more and more still, within it.
A tree-hugging friend helped me to see this more when she invited me to be one of many hundreds of people hugging another inhabitant of our planet – I highly recommend hugging a tree as well as hugging friends. After the heavy handedness and footedness of industrialisation* we need people who walk in creative, interdependent and innovative ways: those who are curious about and present to the world in which we find ourselves as gardener/artist-poets.
Maybe then we’ll not be quite so lost in space.
(*Poet and Jesuit Gerard Manley Hopkins captures this well when in ‘God’s Grandeur’ when he looks on the industrial landscape of his time : “Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; /And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil; ?And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil /Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.”)