Picking up the staff
One crumbling step after the other, we’ve spread ourselves through the orb, but that tree, that tree we once called home, remained alive, following its nature, following the rhythm of the seasons, loosing leaves, earning a new foliage, sharing its fruits.
That same tree is within us, within each one of us, always present in our collective experience as a species.
We are now under the shadow of a different tree, the universal one, scanning its branches, aiming at its juicy fruitage, never tasted before.
As, in the remoteness of time, we became bipedal beings who started roaming the land in search of the proper sites where we could thrive, we are now taking that pursuance a little farer.
Nowadays, hot jupiters and other almost unclassifiable sorts of exoplanets are our new deserts, our new abysses but…somewhere there, in the distance, a new verdant valley awaits us.
What we are doing here, peering at the stars, is the equivalent to our long march along the ridges of the Earth, on a vital scouting for survival.
We are, once more, picking up the staff, we are, once more, nomads, stellar nomads.
We are clearing the way for the Homo Viator.