For one challenging year, I ran the adult section of a recovery center. As would be suspected, there was a lot of AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) and NA (Narcotics Anonymous) stuff going on. I say this, because at the moment I feel like I am standing up in front of you, saying: "Hi, I'm Steve, and I'm a... human." OK, now that I've got that out of the way, I can breathe easier. I feel the empathy of you, my peers, and now I can settle back in my chair and begin to think this whole human addiction thing through.
You see, being a human these days involves a certain amount of facing up to patterns and behavior that haven't been doing us humans, or the planet, any good. Indeed, there has been a lot of addiction stuff going on: our self-glorifying illusion that we are somehow the most important species, so proud of our buildings and books and automobiles, all of which deliciously stimulates and reinforces neural pathways in a surge of human-centric biochemistry...
But, I am now aware that my, and the rest of humanity's addiction to feeling so grandly on top of Gaia's list of cherished Earth-inhabitants is not only self-defeating (i.e. humanity faces eventual extinction if this remains unchecked), but threatens the loss of everything else I know and cherish that lives on Earth alongside us.
What addiction? My addiction shows, for instance, by my reliance on fossil fuels. The addiction itself, however (and this is very uncomfortable to disclose) is an utter narcissism and self-centeredness about using the Earth around me for my own advantage. This is an all-encompassing addiction: the belief that I - as a human - am the center, owner and most important member of all of Gaia's inhabitants. And, like so many other addictions, I developed a complete way of life around this addiction that is maintained and facilitated by such things as my car, my home, and the very products that I buy.
OK. I realize that I am not the only one supposing that my existence as a human means that I am the utter pinnacle of Gaia's creation. I am perfectly aware that I am addressing you, my circle of peers, and that we are surrounded by a whole human race, which adds up to countless (and steadily increasing) others who share this problem.
That is why I am here: to learn, to grow, and to change.
Yes, change. You see, I have since learned that mine, and I assume ours, is not the only species on the planet. Sure, I always knew that, but what I am learning is the magnitude with which I had lived by the unchallenged presumption that I was a member of the only species that really mattered.
However, as most persons in recovery well know, the real work involves a piercing analysis of oneself.
It makes little difference to me that I was raised (and still live) surrounded by others who feel morally, intellectually and spiritually superior to the planet's other species, although it helps me understand the extent of the problem. It's a species issue.
Even the literature that I have read throughout my life was nearly always written by other human beings. Alright, always. And, suffering from the same problem as myself, though not recognized as such. Even a lot of our brilliant philosophy or 'deep' religious writings, carefully studied for generations and meticulously thought through by so many, never questioned the superiority of humankind.
I used to gaze at the world around me and it all appeared justified. Bacteria were not writing illuminating essays and even our closest genetic kin - the chimpanzee - had not invented the car, or even a bicycle. Zebras had not chronicled mind-opening epiphanies, nor had dogs particularly impressed me by their efforts to tease out delicate moral or ethical issues.
My species-superiority appeared unchallenged.
However, as I learn that all beings on Earth, from the microbe to the elephant are integral to the balance of the Earth's health, I am floundering like a captured fish on a pier, no longer at peace and comfortable with my former human-centered consciousness. This is hard to talk about generally and for the sake of exploring it at all, I must focus on something in particular.
I will choose... the banana slug.
These silent yellow monsters slither through my garden, gorging on delicate plants that I have painstakingly been caring for and coaxing forth into their full potential and, as I see it, their beauty. Daily, as I make my way through the grounds here at Marshall Creek, I find utter devastation following their nightly forays. Plants, whose leaves yesterday were brilliantly cascading beneath the sun, now wither limply with ripped and torn edges, their vitality chewed nearly in half, their lifeblood sucked from their veins. The damage is often irreversible.
I take a big sigh here in the uncomfortable awareness that this is: homocentricism. Human-centeredness. The 'humans are all that really count' perspective. Just look at the way I see them: plant-eating monsters.
A slug is not a 'plant-eating monster.' It's just a slug.
There is also the matter of beauty. It is I, a human, who so enjoys the proud spikes of a (deliciously) soft-tissue plant reaching for the sunlight, with a spread of wonderful soft green leaves gathering the sun's energy and mixing it with the nutrients of the soil. It's the kind of plant that makes a banana slug go 'yum!' I love the beauty I see in my garden, and I haven't quite got around to think of it as the slug's garden. I doubt that they find the yellow flowers quite as aesthetically pleasing as I. My sense is that they prefer the sight of a nice juicy stem, or the edge of a pleasing leaf. I am sure these pull them in like me to a pizza.
I guess I can understand why banana slugs might not have the same impulse to protect and encourage the same beauty that I see in my garden. It would be nice, though, to live in a world where I, and the banana slugs, could gather on the deck in the mornings. We would just sit, watch the garden and meditate on the delight of the swaying ferns and young buds on the azaleas. But, this is my dream, not theirs. Its an anthropocentric one.
Maybe this matter of my little garden and these slugs is not the most significant issue of conflicts arising from my human-centered perspective, but it is real to me, and one that I faced this year's spring, as I did last spring, and the spring before.
The conflict persists. I don't like to see suffering of the plants in my garden, nor do I like to suffer. I don't even like to see slugs suffer. When I spot them, I gently lob them across the creek into the clover where I figure they can carry on with life in their own way, and I in mine, without conflict.
"Hi, I'm Steve, and I'm a human..." I say. Thank you for joining me in my little 'Humans Anonymous' meeting. They say that these meetings are not for those who are fully recovered, but for everyone. It is also said that I shouldn't feel shame at my addiction, but instead be glad that I am here, with you, working on my recovery.
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This article was reprinted from the Marshall Creek Project Newsletter. Consider joining this forum: a place to read and contribute your interest in reconnecting with our Earth and raising our awareness of the miracle of the opportunity to live. Go to www.marshallcreek.org and go to the 'newsletter' section to read, and sign up to receive your monthly newsletter.
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