Something changed in me seven years ago when I first visited the Ecuadorian Amazon. It's nearly impossible to explain with words - the holy hum of millions of creatures living and dying, singing, making love, fighting, calling, killing, crying. Ants, spiders, toads, snakes, lichen, ancient creaking trees, turning worms, howling people, whirring cicadas. Jurassic palm leaves blowing in the soft wind. Fish in the lakes. Canoes in the rivers. Rain - so much rain - rolling off of the petals of extra-terrestrial-looking flowers. And the birds...the rainbow birds. The stories of these creatures, their shapes and their sounds left a deep imprint in me. It is the Sistine Chapel of evolution - a singing testament to the miracle of life on this green planet.
I swear that the Amazon taught me how to be a human. It sounds crazy, but those sounds put me in my place in this world; I am a small, sun-loving mammal seeking love, eating and sleeping with dreams, aspirations and some creations to show for it. The forest made me realize how small I am. I take great comfort in that.
These fires have broken my heart. A part of me is dying. A part of you is dying too.
In the face of this destruction, all I feel we can do is let the record show that we humans stood up to the strange, cannibalistic force that possessed our species. We stood up, collected seeds, created networks, showed kindness to our neighbors, shared our food with the animals, watered the plants, and prayed for all good things. We explored rituals and rites that helped us see with new eyes. We listened to those sounds that still remain with great courage, focus and patience. We believed in the perseverance of beauty and grace.