The Body of Earth, The Spirit of Man

The Body of Earth, The Spirit of Man

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

From above the stratosphere, she spins  a breathing, bleeding, brilliant sphere, suspended in the black veil of the cosmos. The planet. Our home. Our body. Our mirror. We orbit her and yet are inside her, tethered to her like a newborn to a mother’s womb. But listen closely: the heartbeat is faint. Her breath is labored. The veins of her rivers constrict, and her lungs  the forests  wheeze with smoke. Her skin cracks beneath the sun, blistered with scars made by our appetites. And still, she spins  wounded but wondrous.

Once, we knew her. We moved with her rhythm, worshiped with her seasons. The whisper of the wind wasn’t just a breeze  it was the Creator's breath against our necks. Mountains were not dead rock  they were the spine of the Earth’s posture, keeping balance between heaven and ground. Rivers were veins through which her spirit flowed. Volcanoes, her raging cries. Oceans, her ancient memories.

But now… something has changed.

Enter: humanity.

A species brilliant and bewildered. Our eyes glisten with invention, our hands mold empires out of dust, and yet, we have forgotten our origin. We have severed the umbilical cord that connected us to the soul of the Earth and the breath of the Creator. We walk around as fractured beings  shells of spirit clothed in flesh, wearing the masks of society and technology, marching to the tune of industry. We no longer live with the planet  we live on her, like parasites gnawing at the very heart that sustains us.

Let us journey now, into the wild places the places untouched by profit, where the Earth still roars in truth. But this is not a tour of comfort. This is a revelation, a trial by nature. Prepare yourself. The path will not be paved.

High in the Arctic north, where snow covers the bones of time, a mother polar bear presses through the frozen night. Her cub follows close, his steps uncertain, the cold biting at their fur. Beneath their paws, the ice thins once thick and eternal, now brittle like glass. The great floes crack. Water gushes up in veins of black ink. The ice melts, the hunt grows longer. The cub is hungry. The mother is desperate. And we, safe in cities of concrete, do not hear the sound of the collapse  but it echoes in the spirit. It echoes in the soul.

Don’t you see? That bear is us. That cub is our future. And the melting ice? It is the erosion of our own spiritual grounding. We are walking on thinning layers of sacred truth, distracted by flashing screens and digital noise, while the warmth of greed melts the foundation beneath our feet.

In the southern seas, the krill rise  translucent prophets of the deep. Their lives are brief, but they feed the mighty. Whales follow them through labyrinthine tides. Orcas hunt with ancient strategy, teaching their young the art of the kill, passing down wisdom like tribal elders. And yet, the balance is tipping. As sea ice shrinks, the krill disappear. One chain breaks, and all life trembles.

This is not just ecology  this is theology. The same way the destruction of one virtue in the soul leads to the collapse of the whole moral order. When compassion dies, cruelty follows. When patience fades, impulse takes the throne. When connection to the Creator is severed, we become blind architects, building towers that will crumble upon us. What is climate collapse if not a mirror of spiritual collapse?

In the dense thickets of the Amazon, breath is born. Each leaf exhales oxygen, a sacred gift, unseen but essential. These are the lungs of the Earth, as our own lungs heave within our chests. But chainsaws scream louder than birds now. Fires devour what was sacred. And in offices far away, the decisions are made not by prophets or poets, but by profits and polluters. What kind of species murders its own lungs? What kind of soul sets fire to its own prayer mat?

We are becoming slaves to a machine we built  and now cannot stop.

The machine hums in the silence. It demands more. More oil, more metal, more time, more of us. We feed it our hours, our thoughts, our children’s future. It does not love. It does not weep. It does not kneel. And all the while, the Earth groans like a woman in labor, birthing a warning we have yet to heed.

But hear me now: not all is lost.

In a hidden grove, beneath a willow tree, I once sat in silence broken by life, forgotten by comfort. My hands trembled not from cold but from despair. And there, I heard it  not a voice, but something deeper. A resonance. A message not in words, but in knowing.

"Trust the root, not the fruit."

And I understood. We have been chasing the fruits of a poisoned tree. Approval. Money. Fame. Power. We have forgotten the root  the Creator. The Source. The Light that calls us home.

The Earth is not dying. She is calling.

She is not just a planet  she is the body of a sacred message. And we are her cells. Each human, a spark of divine essence, tasked with healing, not harming. But we must wake up. The sirens are sounding  in melting ice, in burning forests, in migrating birds flying in confusion, in the cancer cells in our own bodies, in the anxiety in our children.

The sickness of the planet is the sickness of our spirits. And the cure is not found in more systems, but in surrender  surrender to the Creator’s rhythm. Reconnection. Reverence. We must remember how to kneel again. How to listen to wind, to honor water, to walk barefoot on the soil and whisper, “I am you, and you are me, and the Divine made us both.”

Let the mountains teach you patience. Let the rivers teach you movement. Let the fire teach you transformation. Let the sky teach you surrender. And when you hear the thunder roll, know that it is not anger  it is awakening.

We are in the documentary of our lives. And right now, the narration holds its breath. Will the creatures survive? Will the ecosystem recover? Will the child find its way back to its parent? Will the soul remember its Maker?

The camera zooms in  on us.

And now it is our turn to act.

Will you keep walking the path of convenience, or will you climb the cliff of awakening? Will you remain enslaved to a dying society, or will you break the chains and return to sacred nature?

The Creator is not far. The Divine is not silent.

Just as the Earth renews herself each spring, you too can renew your spirit. But you must choose. You must fight  not with fists, but with faith. Not with war, but with wisdom.

The planet is a body. Your body. Sacred. Scarred. Alive. The soul of the Earth pulses within you. Do not betray it. Do not abandon the connection.

Because when the last tree falls, and the final glacier melts, and the skies grow dark from smoke and sorrow, it will not be enough to say, “We didn’t know.”

You know now.

And you are not alone.

The Creator walks beside those who protect what was given. Who honor the body, the Earth, and the divine breath within all things.

This is the hour of decision.

This is the heartbeat before resurrection.

Will you awaken?

Or will you vanish into the smoke?

The Earth, like the human spirit, was not created to be subdued by darkness. Her resilience is a reflection of divine mercy. Even as we defile her skin and poison her blood, she continues to offer her fruit, her shelter, her beauty. Is there any greater act of grace than the forgiveness of a planet?

And like the soul, she requires healing. Not from machines. Not from chemicals. But from love. From reverence. From the sacred hands of a people who remember. Who remember that to heal the Earth is to heal themselves.

Rise, therefore, not as conquerors, but as caretakers. Breathe in her wind not as a right, but as a blessing. Drink her waters not as a possession, but as communion. Plant your feet in her soil not as owners, but as children come home.

This is your Earth.

This is your spirit.

This is your call.

Awaken, beloved.

The Creator waits with open arms.

Dear Reader,

I need your support.

If my reflections have moved you, inspired you, or made you pause and think deeply about life, the Earth, and the Creator, I humbly ask that you share them with others. Your voice can help carry these words further than I ever could alone.

Feel free to post links to the blog on your social media, text them to friends, or email them to loved ones. Every share helps awaken another spirit, start a conversation, or heal a heart.

Thank you for reading. Thank you for walking this path with me.

With gratitude and light,

Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar