The Earth Does Not Belong to Us

 (Moon Ink Chronicles — Entry VIII)

Something became clear to me as the world grew quieter.

Not fearful.

Not divided in the way headlines insist.

Just human — wary, attentive, and oddly calm.

I kept returning to the same truth: that whatever name we give God — or whether we use a name at all — the measure is not belief, but how we treat one another while we are here.

In the eyes of God, however one understands that presence, no one stands higher than another.

No skin, no faith, no language, no border confers greater worth.

We are equal because we are alive.

The Earth doesn’t recognize ownership.

She doesn’t respond to flags or titles or claims drawn on maps.

She responds to care.

Every breath we take is shared.

Every river crosses imagined lines.

Every tree offers shade without asking who deserves it.

The idea that any group of humans can own the Earth has caused more harm than we like to admit. It has taught us to defend instead of tend, to claim instead of listen, to divide what was never separate.

But beneath all of that, something older remains.

We belong to this world — not as masters, but as guests entrusted with its keeping.

The same truth applies to the heavens, to the vastness beyond us. Nothing exists for domination. Everything exists in relationship.

I don’t believe peace comes from agreement.

I believe it comes from remembering that every person carries a private universe — histories, loves, griefs — no less sacred than our own.

Nothing good comes from violence.

It hardens what could have softened.

It multiplies pain and calls it necessity.

What the world needs now isn’t control or conquest.

It needs humility.

It needs stewardship.

It needs the courage to see another human and recognize kin.

We do not own this Earth.

We are here to care for it —

and for one another —

while we can.