We need a new ecology of thought

How reconnecting with nature could save the planet

Our drinking water

Rain pours over the walnut tree in next building’s patio. The thick green leaves amplify the sound of the rain drops hundredfold. It feels like the whole sky pours over the earth. The water that came to Earth from the interstellar space 4.2 billion years ago going through its hydrologic cycle. 60 to 70% of our bodies are as old as the solar system. The sound of rain prickles my skin. My senses are wide open, taking in the presence of water. My mind is alert but calm, a feeling of soothing presence washes over my body.

There’s a visceral connection between our bodies and the nature that surrounds us. Almost as if the elements that compose our flesh are called by the same elements that form life on this planet: water, carbon, nitrogen, phosphorus, potassium, calcium and magnesium. There’s poetry in knowing where we come from and where we’re going. Our bodies are made by eternal building blocks. Forming and unforming, giving shape to innumerable living beings. The same water that flows through us was in the dinosaurs 200 million years ago; was in the glaciers, the clouds, the rain that patters on the walnut leaves outside my window.

You were once the rain. A wave in the ocean. A chip of blue ice. The soil beneath your feet. A tree. A flower. A bird in the sky.

Our modern society has severed our mental ties to nature. In our heads, we’re not part of this planet. Instead, we live in an imaginary world where we outgrew our lowly animal beginnings. We’re not rooted into the forests, the meadows and rivers. We don’t breathe the same air as our little brothers and sisters roaming this earth as whales, bears, elephants, tigers, foxes, rabbits, beavers, pelicans and bees. We don’t drink the same water. Our food no longer comes from the soil. Nor from the flesh of other beings. Our supermarkets are filled up every day by the horn of abundance gifted to us by the gods. Our clothing is spun from heavenly threads. Our palaces are built by genies summoned from magic lamps. And we travel on flying carpets. It’s a beautiful dream.

But human civilization as we practice it today is not magic. Every human action drains the planet of a little more life blood. We’re losing our natural world at an alarming rate and there’s a high chance we won’t wake up from our beautiful dream until it’s too late. Even as we try to make things better, we’re destroying the last protected lands to mine for lithium and rendering them uninhabitable for the indigenous populations that cared for them for millennia. We’re cutting the few remaining forests to install large-scale renewable energy projects. Is this the right way to green our energy? What will be left by the time we’re done fixing this planet for humans? Electric vehicles won’t save us. Solar panels won’t save us. A better economy won’t save us. Technological progress won’t save us. The only thing that will save us is reconnecting with the natural world.

Our ecosystems are dying by a thousand cuts every single day. Every object we hold—every meal we eat, every glass of water we drink, every city we build, every car we make, basically every breath we take and every move we make on this planet as human beings in the 21st century—leaves a dent into our world. And when you multiply that dent by billions of us, it becomes clear we are a huge insatiable mouth that never stops chipping away at the planet. How must we seem to other living beings on this planet? Like the No-Face character from Spirited Away, a Faceless species gobbling away the world, desperately trying to find meaning.

I listen to the soothing sound of rain pattering on the rooftop.

25 bathtubs of water to grow the cotton for one t-shirt. 7,500 liters of water to make a single pair of jeans.

It’s been raining for the past three days.

140 liters of water to produce one cup of coffee—enough to fill a bathtub. 15,000 liters of water to produce 1kg of beef—enough to fill a swimming pool.

But it’s not enough. Since 1900, Austria's temperature has risen by around 3.1°C. Last winter was one of the driest on record, with precipitation levels approximately 70% below average.

12,000 liters of water to make a smartphone. 8 kg of lithium on average to make a battery for an electric vehicle—the Tesla Model S contains around 62.6 kg of lithium. 1,9 million liters of water to mine one ton of lithium.

Our ancestors had a deep respect for water. Entire civilizations were built around water management. Even today, 3000 year old water systems save lives in times of drought. Learning to once again respect nature and be accountable for the resources we take from our ecosystems can go a long way in healing the planet. Our lives are intertwined with the land that feeds us, the water that quenches our thirst, the air that fills our lungs; with the forests and the meadows and the oceans; and with all other living beings.

What a beautiful gift this Earth is.
Let us not waste it.

🜁

In my climate fiction mosaic novel, There Is Hope, Central Europe has turned into a Dust Bowl by the year 2550. Here’s an encounter with the scavengers living in the abandoned European cities.

The ghost city spreads in front of them, caked in dust and ravaged by the passage of time, a heavy mastodon staring at them through the empty sockets of its windows, hollow and grim like its past that had unleashed the wrath of heat on Earth. Sanse crosses his fingers to avert the evil eye of these worthless ancestors.

‘Why did we come here?’ His father eyes him in silence. He casually searches through his pockets, takes out a package of seaweed crackers and offers it to him. Sanse takes it, chews and waits. At a distance, Shia is dragging her feet over cracked soil.

‘We’re leaving a tip for the Dust Pirates,’ his father says.

‘The Dust Pirates live here?’ Sanse gawks at the ugly ruins.

‘Do you think the Dust Pirates live here?’ His father searches again through his pockets and lights up a pipe.

‘No idea.’ Sanse shrugs and licks his fingers.

The koi fish sun, now lower on the horizon, paints the ocean sky orange. The evening wraps them in its stillness, a hot and suffocating embrace. Sanse’s thoughts are melting away like cheap plastic, and, for a moment, he believes he is hallucinating when something looking like a tall zombie emerges from the gray ruins. It’s a bone-skinny human being pulling a cart of what looks like scavenged goods. Sanse stares at the emaciated figure with a mix of horror and fascination.

‘We’re not here to buy today, but I’ll have some lithium batteries. Do you have any?’ his father says taking out a jug of water. The tall zombie man searches through the scraps in his cart, hands two batteries to his father and takes the water.

‘Thanks,’ his father says, placing the batteries in his cart. ‘We have a delivery for the Dust Pirates.’

‘Unfortunately, you’re a bit late.’ The tall zombie man looks his father in the eyes and nods thoughtfully.

‘What do you mean?’ his father says.

Shia stops next to Sanse, breathing heavily.

‘Are these the Dust Pirates?’ Shia searches through her backpack and takes out a water bottle. She’s about to drink again when a strange song fills the air.

‘Blue ice melting
melting into the sea
our drinking water
flowing into the ocean
the salty ocean
we’re melting in the heat
dreaming of cool
blue ice melting.’

Several zombie children leak through the hollow doors and windows of the ruined buildings and surround Sanse and Shia.

‘Water?’ a zombie child says, tugging at Sanse’s sleeve. Sanse looks into the cavernous voids of the child’s thirsty and hungry eyes.

‘You poor little thing. Here,’ Shia says, offering her water bottle to the zombie child. The child snaps the bottle and runs away.

‘What are you doing?’ Sanse stares at Shia, who is busy digging through pockets and bags and handing all her food and water to the greedy little hands.

‘At this rate, you won’t survive on the Dust Road long enough to meet the pirates!’ his father says, extracting Shia from the insatiable hands of the little rascals and shooing the children away.

🜁

Your curator,
Claudia—Builder of myths. Architect of deep futures.

🜁

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