Shoulders

Like many, I love to look at the stars
 I love the fact that ours is just one among many
 What I love about astronomy is that our constellations tell a story
 Our constellations were born from mythology
 Mythology was our first attempt to understand the world in which we live
 We put a God in everything and those Gods would give us our reasons
 Why is the sky blue?
 Who chose blue?
 Gods
 How come men have nipples?
 It's the will of the Gods
 Why does this wine taste so good?
 There's a God in it
 And for a while, there was not a single thing that the gods could not explain
 We believed that their anger gave us lightning
 Their despair gave us rain
 We whispered our desires to them, believing that their charity would sustain us
 Those Gods... were just stories
 But stories became a large part of how we learn
 They burn lessons into our memories
 They become a part of how we remember; we can remember almost everything
 Right down to that first unbearable bee sting
 When we learned that this tiny blue marble we call the world has rules
 Rule number one: don't fuck with the bees
 An unforgettable lesson brought to you by your memories
 I remember that I grew up loving mythology
 I remember the story of the titan Atlas, who was also the god of astronomy
 The original global positioning system sending sailors safely home by telling them which constellation to keep starboard
 He taught us about the stars, and in all this, while he held up ours
 Our pale blue dot
 But Atlas is caught between two different tellings of his story
 In the first, he leads a rebellion against Olympus and is then sentenced to hold the heavens on his shoulders for eternity
 In the second story, he is chosen to be the guardian of the pillars that hold up the earth and sky
 I prefer the second story
 It means that the world is not a punishment; but rather, a responsibility
 But how can just one be charged with such a burden?
 How can just one be responsible for all this?
 When I think of Atlas, I think of a single drop of rain
 I think how unfair it would be to hold a single drop solely responsible for making the entire world clean again
 I remember how my grandmother tried to explain our world to me-
 She told me a story
 She said the ground and the sky, they love each other
 But they don't have arms
 So rain; that's just how they hold one another
 I began to see how the earth and sky need each other
 But I wondered about us
 In this perfect design, where do we fit?
 Which piece of the puzzle are we?
 Like constellations, I began to see a connection between dots and numbered my thoughts
 And drew lines from one to the next
 I began to see us in the context of a bigger picture, sharpening the blur slowly into focus
 We are Atlas
 I saw that this pale blue dot, this one world, is all we get
 There will be no reset button, no new operating system, no downloadable upgrade
 We will not be allowed to trade in our old world for a new one with climate control or better fuel efficiency
 We get one shot at this
 Dismiss all reports of second chances; we get one
 And yet we draw advances on our future as if we one day won't be held accountable-
 We will
 We are
 The human race runs toward a finish line emblazoned with the worlds 'too far' and wonders
 Will we ever cross it?
 Have we already?
 We are faced with the seemingly impossible talk
 And it's okay to be afraid
 Our dilemma stands before us like a mountain carved into a blockade, the sheer magnitude of our problem would be enough to dissuade anyone
 How do we save the world?
 We lay in our beds curled into question marks, wondering
 What can we do?
 Where do we start?
 Is hope a glue crazy enough to hold us together while we're falling apart?
 The burden seems immense
 But we can do this
 We must take the martial arts approach to loving our planet-
 Love as self-defense
 Forget about the cost
 There will be no other thing as worth saving as this
 Nothing more important; nothing as precious
 This is home
 All of our stories start and end here
 We are sheltered within an atmosphere that has given us every single breath we will ever take
 Every monument we have ever made has come from the flesh of our planet
 Water like blood, skin like soil, bones like granite
 It is not a myth, there is no debate, facts are in
 Fact is, there's never been any question
 We are facing crisis
 We dismiss the truth not because we can't accept it, but because having to commit ourselves to change is a scary prospect for anybody
 The most alarming part of the statement 'we are facing crisis'
 Isn't the word 'crisis'
 It's the word 'we'
 Because those two letters take the responsibility away from one and rest it squarely on the shoulders of everybody
 We are Atlas now
 But our strength will come from finding a way to share in shouldering the responsibility of turning the impossible into somehow
 Somehow, we will do this
 We can do this
 We can dismiss apathy; we can reject uncertainty
 We can be the new chapter in our story
 We will not see change immediately
 We must act in faith as the hour hand grips the minute hand and they land on the eleventh hour
 We must believe like the seed that change is possible to see
 Never seize the flower, it grows knowing it must become more than what it was
 It changes, because in growth, all of its potential can be unlocked
 Change is like rain, it starts with a single drop
 Just one, like our pale blue dot
 Caught in an endless waltz called gravity, we circle the sun, wondering who, if anyone left the light on
 We are constellations drawn upon the earth, we are connected to one another, we are bound
 We must behave as the arms that connect the ground to the sky
 We must try to be more like the rain
 Our stories may differ, our goal is the same
 How do we save our pale blue dot?
 We act as the rain, realizing that each individual drop is as equal and important as any
 We act as one
 Now, we are many