4/14/22
The grass in the yard is long and unkempt. Aesthetically, it may be inferior, but in terms of biomass--the grass itself is more, and its abundance supports more insects and beetles and spiders, more food for the birds, more life to go around.
From the patio table I see swarms of gnats in the sunshine. I also see slightly larger creatures darting about within the swarms, feasting on the smaller diptera. Even these are no larger than a fraction of a fingernail. The natural ballet. I have no clue what these predators are exactly, but I see them gather and hunt until few gnats are left in those fluttering clouds. They then move to the next feeding ground.
If given the opportunity, the predators will devour all the gnats until none are left. This I can see in real time. They don't have conservation techniques, long-term plans, food management practices. Supply and demand balance in the backyard ecosystem; if the gnat population declines, say from overpopulation of predators, so will the predator population. A self-regulating loop governs, enforces the balance. The scale tips too far one way and the consequences are morbid; bacteria will usher their own demise by colonizing every millimeter of an auger petri dish until nothing is left.
The human parallel is evident here. What supposedly makes us more able to avoid the death-whiplash of imbalance is our consciousness. We can understand what we're doing and the consequences of those actions.
Individually, we know. The problem is collective, though, and that's where my question is:
Do we really have a collective consciousness? Does such a thing exist? Should we expect this from humanity, or is it an unfair, unnatural, idealistic burden contradictory to our instincts in this closed-system planet we live on?
4/16/22
Traffic in LA is a hallmark of the landscape. It is everywhere, it is inescapable and completely enmeshed with the enormous city. But it's also a beautiful place dotted with lively and wonderful neighborhoods. A mosaic of Southern California knitted together by traffic.
4/21/22
Saying goodbye is difficult. What I guess it means is that it was worth meeting, though. It feels tragic to part because the urge is to stay together--to keep those moments coming, to feel more of something that's been good. Is it worthwhile to develop a tolerance for this tragedy? To often say farwell? Only if one has faith that there will be more, many more, of those beautiful, magical offerings from the cosmos. A belief, a bravery, an optimism. Nothing can really stay; therein lies the miracle.
