It is Sunday morning.  I am doing my daily practice which includes exertions of various kinds.  My latest exercise is to take a big, green wheelbarrow to the field you see above (aka, the Cathedral or the Finger Field) and load it with bark chips.  Then I walk backwards to the house, an uphill slog that really gives the lower body a workout.  I do this daily…well, almost.  I don’t get to put a big red X on the calendar if I don’t.  My incentive.

This particular Sunday morning I happened to be listening to a podcast about whether humanity can survive AI.  Stopping at the big pile o’ bark mulch I start to load up a small load and then I hear it.  The world in the photo above.  Creatures singing in the cathedral of trees, the tinnitus of nature thrumming high pitched and low,  the thoughts in my head, stuff that doesn’t happen, happens. Stuff that happens in my heart happens. come one come all because it is my story and your story.  As soon as the inscape quiets, as soon as I pull out my earbuds, as soon as AI doomchat ends,  the feverish past, present, and future of this field from below the ground to 100 feet up and more flips the script in an instant.  AI will never win against this sacred audio tsunami. Sunday is never silent where I live.

Here is a poem that arose from the short post above:

Cathedral

Pausing at the big pile of bark mulch
I start to load up and then I hear it,
the world in the photo below.
bugs & birds & all
singing in the cathedral of trees,
the tinnitus of nature thrumming
high pitched and low.
The thoughts in my head,
stuff that doesn’t happen, happens.
Stuff that happens in my heart, happens.
Come one, come all because
it is my story and yours.
As soon as the inscape quiets,
as soon as I pull out my earbuds,
as soon as AI doomchat ends,
the feverish past, present,
and future of this field from below the ground
to 100 feet up and more,
flips the script in an instant.
AI will never win against this sacred audio tsunami.
Sunday is never silent or silenced where I live.