Pssst! You! Yeah, you... are a passenger on a planet... on a blue-green planet that's orbiting a golden star. And right now we are traveling through a part of our yearly orbit where I celebrate three anniversaries - a birth, a death, and a dazzling display of technology. First, the techno-dazzle: In late July of 1969 the USA struck back at its arch-enemy, the Soviet Union, for beating it into space with the launch of a spacecraft, Sputnik. Watchers gathered around televisions all over the world and were captivated as man took his first walk on the moon. But maybe the most important view of all was seen by the astronauts from the spacecraft window as they looked at the Earth; there was no "US," no "Soviet Union," just a tiny, cloud-wrapped, blue-green marble, suspended in the vast blackness of space. The poet T.S. Eliot wrote, "We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."

In late July of 1919 a baby was born in England. This baby grew up to be scientist, James Lovelock, who worked for NASA, researching the possibility of life on Mars. Mars, like all the planets orbiting our sun, is a ball of debris that clumped up from a disk of dust cast off by our spinning young sun 5 billion years ago. But how does a ball of debris come to life? And how does it stay alive for billions of years? Lovelock introduced us to Gaia. Gaia, the ancient Greek name for this living, breathing blue-green planet who is your and my Mother Earth. T.S. Eliot: "We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."

In late July of 1985 my father died. He was so ravaged from fighting in the trenches during World War II that his unpredictable rages made my childhood a living hell. Terrified, I escaped from my body and took up residence in the space above our planet. From here, with the help of my astronomy books, I watched her spinning, orbiting and being orbited by our moon. The day my father died it was safe to return home to my body. At the age of 42, I began my journey back into a female, human earth-body whose genetic material is the living history of a clump of debris cast off by a star. The calcium in my bones, the iron in my blood, the oxygen in my lungs: all of these elements and more were forged in the cosmic furnaces that we call stars. How this star-stuff became living tissue capable of orgasms, giving birth and nursing babies is what I wonder about on this anniversary of my dad's death. T.S. Eliot: "We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time."

Now, we're passing through this particular little neighborhood in our 600-million-mile orbital journey that we call late July. The anniversaries I celebrate at this time of year are a trinity: three different faces of this one little neighborhood.

This is Harriet Witt, your guide for this little ride on our passenger planet.


If you have any questions, drop Harriet an email: harriet@passengerplanet.com


return to home page