For the one who has always held us,
who has fed us, clothed us, given us life—
and whom we have too often treated as if she were invisible.
Dearest Mother Earth,
We call you Mother because it is the only word that comes close to the truth of what you are to us.You are our island in space, the ground beneath our feet, and the air in our lungs. You are the water in our veins and the fire in our bellies. Furthermore, you are the first love, the eternal love, the love that asks for nothing in return but our aliveness.
And yet—how often have we treated you as if you were less than sacred? As if you were a thing to be used, not a being to be loved?
This Spring, as you dress yourself in green and gold, as you bloom with the stubborn hope of life, we want to say: We see you. We love you. And we ask your forgiveness.
Where This Idea Comes From
The idea of the Earth as Mother is not new.
It is as old as language, older than cities, older than the fictions that have tried to replace her with gods and kings and markets.
The Indigenous peoples of every continent have known her as Mother—Pachamama to the Andes, Gaia to the Greeks, Bhumi to the Hindus, the Corn Mother to the Iroquois. They knew, as we are beginning to remember, that she is not just life-giving, but life itself.
The scientists, too, have caught up to what the poets always knew.
They tell us now that the Earth is a living system—that the air, the water, the soil, the creatures, even the rocks, are all part of one vast, breathing organism. That what we do to you, we do to ourselves.
And the mystics—oh, the mystics have always known.
Meister Eckhart called you the ground of our being.
Thich Nhat Hanh called you our true home.
Mary Oliver asked, What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
And the answer, always, is you.
The Love Letter
So here is our promise to you, Mother Earth, this Spring and always:
We will see you.
Not as a backdrop to our lives, but as the heart of them.
We will listen to you.
To the whisper of the wind, the groan of the glaciers, the silence of the forests we’ve cut down.
We will listen, and we will answer.
We will fight for you.
Not as your masters, but as your children.
Not as your conquerors, but as your lovers.
We will remember that we are not separate from you.
That the line between you and us is a fiction.
That to harm you is to harm ourselves.
That to love you is to love life itself.
The Work Ahead
This is not just a letter.
It is a vow.
And the work of keeping that vow is the work of our lives.
It is the work of Opthe—
of coherence, of agape-gratia, of service to life and the earth.
It is the work of waking up to the truth that we are not here to take, but to give.
That we are not here to dominate, but to belong.
So let us begin.
Let us tend the garden.
Let us plant the future.
Let us love you, Mother Earth, as fiercely as you have always loved us.
With all our hearts,
With all our hands,
With all our lives—
Your children,
Your lovers,
Your own.