Photography by Margo Leismüller.
In his short story ‘Investigations of a Dog’, Franz Kafka writes (here in the 1961 translation by Willa and Edwin Muir): ‘If, as science claims, these ceremonies minister only to the soil, giving it the potency, let’s say, to attract food from the air, then logically they should be directed exclusively to the soil; it is the soil that the incantations must be whispered to, the soil that must be danced to.’
‘And, to the best of my knowledge, science ordains nothing else than this.’ Kafka continues, or rather I should say, the unnamed dog who narrates this piece of prose does. ‘But now comes the remarkable thing; the people in all their ceremonies gaze upward.’
It is funny, really, that we look up, pondering the existence of a higher power, baselessly assuming that said being loiters above us rather than beneath. A higher power is broadly defined as a being that has great power, strength and knowledge, and can affect nature and human life. What are we looking up to? Our higher power is all around us, in the soil, the seeds and the science: Mother Nature, in all her splendour, who, if nourished and cared for, will cater and care for us in return.
Photography by Margo Leismüller.
The unnamed dog rightly observes that ‘the earth, when it is watered and scratched according to the rules of science, extrudes nourishment, and moreover in such quality, in such abundance, in such ways, in such places, at such hours (…).’
That’s where we’ve gone wrong. Subsequently, Mother Nature lashes out in pain – often striking those least responsible or deserving. We’re abusing her, misusing her; acting as if we have somewhere else to go when we’ve finished here. We don’t. We will live out the rest of our days down here. And, when we’re done, when we die, we’re going down – not up or anywhere else (no matter how much Elon Musk fancies himself a man of Mars). That’s the brevity of gravity.
This misconception that we have somewhere else to go essentially permits the planetary foul play at hand. We treat the earth like a stepping stone on the way to our next destination over this flowing stream of consciousness (or are we unconscious?) – it doesn’t matter if it sinks, we’re just passing by. Oops, we’ve got wet feet, they’ll dry off in the burning sun as we continue into our next life, an afterlife, somewhere else.
It does matter, those shoes are all we’ve got, and that sinking rock, that’s our home – our only home.
Photography by Margo Leismüller.
The dog carries on, noting the air never asked us to worship it. ‘This is no insult to science, since science does not forbid it, but leaves the husbandman complete freedom in this respect; in its teaching it takes only the soil into account, and if the husbandman carries out its instructions concerning the preparation of the ground it is content; yet, in my opinion, it should really demand more than this if it is logical.’ We are free to do with the soil as we please. But the soil shall only provide if we follow its preparatory instructions; ensuring its contentment is the bare minimum.
Chemically contaminated and saturated with microplastics, we’ve not followed the instructions. Soil biodiversity and the many biological processes and functions that it supports, from storing carbon to growing crops, are under threat.
‘I simply cannot conceive how the learned can bear to let our people, unruly and passionate as they are, chant their incantations with their faces turned upwards, wail our ancient folk songs into the air, and spring high in their dance as though, forgetting the ground, they wished to take flight from it forever.’
As I write this, unruly and passionate myself, Okay Kaya chants from a speaker on my bedroom floor:
Here I am
Being Mother Nature’s Bitch
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh
Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh
I am Mother Nature’s Bitch. Inherently feminine, carnivorous, subordinate? Kafka’s unnamed dog is Mother Nature’s Bitch. Let’s be her bitches together, a group respecting the soil in all of its potency, caring for her as she has for us: maternally. That’s pretty powerful, right? ‘It is the soil that the incantations must be whispered to, the soil that must be danced to.’ Oh, Mother Nature, if humanity is nature, when did we become so unnatural?
Photography by Margo Leismüller.
As featured in SLEEK 79 – MOTHER. Available in print and digital here.