My dog Hunter has the innate ability to sense when a storm is coming. Here, to my right, he pants his smelly, hot breath on me, hoping that I have some magical power to make the upcoming weather disturbance go away. How on earth does he know, so completely and without doubt, that something is coming? He doesn't have to look at the sky or check Joe Winters's forecast. The dog simply knows.
Animals are fascinating. They don't think, they don't step back and try to figure out a problem, and they don't empathize, and yet they are many times infinitely more at peace than any human. We worry, we stress, and we cry, but we never stop doubting ourselves or fill the void in our lives. Most people don't acknowledge the void. Instead, they continue to fill their lives with stuff. You know the people. New car, redecorated house, nice clothes, soccer practice for their kids. But if you really know them, you know something's always wrong with the car, or the coach isn't being fair, or there's never enough shopping. There are very few moments were they step back and say, "I never want more than this. If I could stay here forever, I would."
The difference between a human and, say, a porcupine, is that the human needs a sense of purpose, of value. Finding, killing, and eating our food is not enough. There is something special about being human, something mysterious and critical to understand. We analyze, hypothesize, and love, but we need to be even more human. A common cry of environmentalists -- especially the more radical -- is that people need to be more in touch with nature. The transcendentalists held this belief above all else. However, I believe that a person can only connect with nature after they have connected with their own self. What's more horrible than seeing a squirrel diligently gathering nuts for an unknown occaison and not truly knowing who you are? Nature is a beautiful and irreplaceable part of our lives, but it should not be the most important part, nor the most vibrant.
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