WORDS P. Momag
PHOTOGRAPHY Marcelo Mudou
seeking
infinity amidst chaos
The case for worshipping nature to cope with the capitalist death cult
Lately I've been feeling the urge to scream until my voice breaks. I feel a howl stuck at the top of my throat driven by rushes of anguish and rage, a hungry dissatisfaction bubbling deep inside me, an emptiness occupying my entire body.
As I write this, my country is facing yet another environmental crisis. Southern Brazil is drowning in historical floods, leaving behind so much destruction and so many preventable deaths. The scale of the devastation is overwhelming, replicating the dreadful feeling I have sadly experienced in previous episodes of the Brazilian saga of climate catastrophes.
Even so, despite the lack of will or inspiration, I must muster the strength to open my computer yet again and work on my deliverables for my job. I should not complain too much – I am lucky enough to have managed to secure employment in the environmental field, working for a progressive non-governmental organization which is in line with many of my beliefs, in a position I have worked very hard to secure.
Yet, despite the many sleepless nights I have spent anxiously dreaming about finding a job like the one I currently have, I still find myself ending my working hours feeling as if my soul has been drained out of my body.
Although I know that the work I have been doing is certainly transforming lives and nurturing beautiful and inspiring environmental initiatives, the heavy weight of the daily life of a young member of the working class often washes away the joy I felt in finally being able to professionally engage in discussions towards the construction of a regenerative future.
I spend my days thinking about money, success, plans and strategies, and the supposed obligation to continually improve myself to become more marketable in the bloody arena that is the job market. My head catches fire at the thought that despite all this, there is a chance that my position may be discontinued due to a lack of funding, that I may not be able to retire, and that in that same second, somewhere in the world, an unthinkable amount of money falls into some billionaire's bank account.
This scream that bubbles up from the deepest recesses of my being seems to calm down at a single moment in the day - when I finally close my computer and go for an hour-long walk near where I live. Every day, I nurture this ritual of walking – and it helps that I'm lucky enough to live in a house that's close to a nature reserve where you can find a small taste of the Cerrado.
The Cerrado is the second largest biome of Brazil, and being the most biodiverse savanna in the world, it is the natural embodiment of the concept of resilience. Despite its unmeasurable power, its spiky beauty, and its centrality in enabling life in the region, the native vegetation of this territory is being devastated by industrial agriculture and cattle raising, the most dominant examples of the destructive power of extractivism in the region.
This developmental paradigm, driven by the systemic devastation of the ecosystem and its natural splendor, is sustained by momentary and unequally distributed lapses of economic growth, which have resulted in the destruction of more than half of all the Cerrado’s native vegetation in the past 50 years.
Photography by Marcelo Mudou
The worrying reality of my ecosystem, which I am frequently reminded of as I witness the lack of action to protect and nurture it, make me even more aware of my deep connection with it, especially during my after-work walks.
Even though I only have a few hours left in the day after finishing work, this brief moment in which I am able to take a deep breath and smell the earth and the native grasses of this immensely diverse dryland seems to momentarily suspend the frustration that accompanies me. It seems that when I have the luxury of being able to dedicate an hour of my day, in which every second has become commodified, to facing the crooked trunk of one of the Cerrado’s quirky trees, I find myself invaded by a flash of clarity.
During this daily ritual, I am reminded that I too am nature, and that I am part of this eternal divine dance that is life on Earth. A realization dawns in my mind like a cherished memory, and it becomes clear to me once again that the way we are taught as the only way to live, existing as if we were something apart from natural cycles whose sole goal must be to accumulate and consume, is nothing but an extremely well-advertised lie.
The understanding of nature that has been imposed onto us by our upbringing poses it in direct opposition to humanity, as something devoid of meaning and will, something without power or movement, or as a resource existing only to be extracted until exhaustion. This view seems to me to be one of the clearest motivations for the generalized discomfort I experience.
Visualizing myself as just another cog in a system seeking infinite profits on a planet that is so abundant, yet so clearly finite, always makes my heartbeat fast. How can it be that I, who benefit so much from the infinite gifts imbued in me by Mother Earth, can allow my life to be spent feeding, even indirectly, a system that feeds off the destruction of the primal source of life?
Only when I feel the dry breeze of the Brazilian central plateau on my skin again am I able to return, in a way, to the mental space of my previous connection. The communion with spaces of non-human nature once again has its effect on me, and I am reminded of how ridiculously small the death cult that capitalism consists of is in the face of the infinite cycles of rebirth that direct existence on Earth.
As I stare at the immensity of Brasilia's blue sky, I think about these cycles of cosmic recycling, of continuous transformation, and I feel my head occupied with thoughts of what a different life could be. A life governed by the changing of the seasons, where my life force isn't squeezed out of my body every day to put out invented fires, where I can breathe calmly and not worry about a world heading towards a precipice, guided by the greed of a few, to the detriment of so many.
These dreams somehow bring me some calm. They water a personal instinct that always arises after moments of reconnection with natural spaces: to combat the destruction, tragedy, and misery that accompany the rift between nature and humanity, it is fundamental to treat the Earth as a divine entity deserving of assiduous and dedicated veneration.
Recognizing ourselves as part of a totality that encompasses mountains, fish, people, spirits and forests allows us to recognize that the destruction guided by the capitalist way of life is a direct attack on ourselves. More importantly, a spiritual reconnection with non-human natures allows us to put all the pettiness of everyday life into perspective, and to recognize how our energies could very easily be redirected towards nurturing and regenerating the webs of life affected by the eternal and insatiable pursuit of profit and economic growth.
Photography by Marcelo Mudou
Luckily, having been exposed to different Amerindian cosmologies during my education, such as those of the Tukano, Yanomami and Xerente peoples, among many other ancient traditions devoid of dualisms between society and nature, I know that there is nothing new in this perspective. I also know that a socio-economic system fueled by destruction and plunder is far from being inherent to a supposed human nature.
On the contrary, ancient cultures around the world have been and continue to be governed by social, cultural, and spiritual regimes rooted in a profound notion of coexistence with non-human natures. It's no wonder that the overwhelming majority of biodiversity that continues to resist the insatiable appetite of big business is located in indigenous territories, which are also under continuous attack from the forces of "progress".
It's important to be clear: I don't believe that the complex spiritual connections that allow different indigenous peoples to see humanity and nature as a continuum are easily palatable to the mentality of those who have always lived their lives in a broken relationship with the non-human world. Nor do I believe that it is appropriate for non-indigenous people who are disconnected from the many struggles of indigenous peoples to appropriate spiritualities that fall short of their cultures.
What I do believe is that many of the answers to both the monstrous climate and biodiversity crises, as well as the sense of alienation and meaninglessness that pervade existence under capitalism, lie in cultivating spiritual bonds with non-human natures. By drawing inspiration from traditional knowledge, we can see nature as a continuous flow of transformation, which even in the face of the most unlikely circumstances, manages to find a way to nourish life. We can be moved to think of ourselves as part of a divine power that allows us to live our lives, which are so complicated but have the potential to be so glorious.
Thinking of the Earth as a polymorphic goddess, an all-encompassing life force, can allow us to remember that stress is a momentary outburst and tiny compared to the grandeur and terror of the eternal wheel of birth and decay. How can a socio-economic system that has existed for mere centuries be excused to exist if it destroys the planet that blesses us with its waters, its fertility, and its beauty?
It may be that if we take a moment to feel the sun on our skin, reflect on the multiplicity of life in our digestive systems, and listen to the call of the earth, we can remember our collective obligation to defend the only planet we have. Perhaps by venerating mycelia and the many other naturally magical phenomena that surround us daily, we can wake up from the drowsy state that has allowed us to arrive at the terrifying scenario of a world that is underwater and on fire at the same time.
Perhaps if we manage to nurture clarity accompanied by a reconnection with natural spaces, we can channel the frustration and anger that hang over us with muffled cries into regenerative action, building a future of prosperity for both humanity and the nature it comprises.
Who knows, if we overcome this dichotomy that has been imposed on us and accept ourselves as part of an incomprehensible and infinite totality, we may come to venerate ourselves as a cosmic miracle coexisting with so many others. Maybe then we can overcome the nightmare of living a biography whose top priority is to pay the next bill, and radically enjoy the abundance of our planet.
Photography by Marcelo Mudou
P. Momag is a Brazilian social scientist and eco-socialist activist based between Brasília, Brazil and Buenos Aires, Argentina.
Marcelo Mudou is a Brazilian artist and photographer based
in São Paulo, Brazil.