1. Yesterday, I was sitting on a bench in a park, looking at trees. Nothing is more nerve-soothing or peace-bringing than nature’s unspeakable charm. I used to live in places where nature flowed before my eyes in abundance. Now, I’m in a place where one has to walk a bit to meet with Her. It feels more like going on a date than waking up in the same bed with Her. I’m not married anymore—just having my flings and one-day stands with nature.
When we lose something—whether it’s experiences, objects, or animals (yes, human animals included)—their value suddenly becomes clear. All of a sudden, the things we took for granted, the background to our existence, are no longer with us. The seashore, the forest, sunsets on the beach, the smell of the ocean, the salt on your skin after a morning swim, sand on bare feet—gone. But we’ve got traffic jams, at least.
We live in houses built from processed garbage and concrete, and most of the time, we don’t even own them. The walls are covered in plaster, hiding the dust, debris, and rats beneath. We know what’s there, but we tend not to think about it too much. In fact, we don’t think about it at all.
As I sat on the bench, I could see an old Gothic church—carefully constructed, stone by stone, by human hands. It’s been standing here for quite some time. I don’t know exactly how long, but it’s old. It will likely still be standing long after these modern houses collapse and the rats have to find new homes. The church, however, will not fall. Its towers and spires, galleries, aisles, and altars will be here for the next generations.
Of course, there’s always the possibility that all animals (humans included) will cease to exist in the so-called “future.” We’re certainly working hard to make that happen.
I’ve always admired Gothic churches and other sacred architectural gems around the world. It amazes me to see these stunning temples built by humans, not for themselves, but for some higher power—or whatever else you want to call It. Names don’t matter that much. We’re good at naming things. We don’t give them a choice. This is a tiger. That is a monkey. This is a human. But who decided that? Humans did.
We’re strange creatures, us humans. We’re different from other animals. We used to be nothing but prey—our value measured by our still-warm, freshly ripped-out guts. Now, our value is measured by the number of zeros in our business accounts. Back then, we had sticks and stones. Now, we have mansions and fleets of luxury cars—at least, some of us do.
