I’m writing this listening to a blackbird singing. Short bursts of song, a different tune every time. The blackbird occasionally drops down to the lawn, pecks around, pulls out a worm and flies off to eat it. The blackbird’s droppings feed the grass, which grows and dies and feeds the worms, and the worms pass dead plant matter through themselves to build soil, which supports humans.
The energy contained in the worm’s body is changed into energy that the blackbird can do things with – like sing songs. The energy exchange takes place inside the mitochondria that live inside every one of the blackbird’s cells. Human cells have mitochondria too. Mitochondria existed as a separate species before there were humans, or blackbirds, or worms.
The blackbird’s song transfers energy, information, or whatever it is to me, and I feel inspired to write a blog post to say that it seems to me that everything is connected in one huge, beautiful oneness that some of us call nature, some of us call God, but none of us understand.
There are ways that humans can damage or limit that oneness, at least in this part of the universe. We can, and we are, changing the balance of temperature, toxicity and diversity faster than ecology can adapt to those changes, and so the oneness is degrading, becoming less healthy, less diverse, weaker.
We’re part of the oneness before we die, and after we die we remain part of the oneness – just in a different manifestation. If we are cremated we become ash and atmospheric carbon and particulates. If we are embalmed and buried, we poison the soil, the worms and the blackbirds. Either way we help to degrade the oneness.
If we have a green funeral, we are buried without additional toxins, a tree is planted for the blackbirds to sing in, and we reconstitute into the great oneness as worm food. I believe that becoming worm food is a way for us to be part of the soil, plants and blackbirds’ songs, and is the best final destination that we as individual humans can aspire to.
