It takes eight minutes for the sunlight to reach the Earth. A moment from the sun’s past creates our present; we are made of memories.

What if the universe is birthing itself through remembrance? The past of one entity is tied to the present of another; we are still entangled to the beginning of it all. Does the Earth have a memory? If so, where is it found?

The memories of the Earth are embedded in our inner and outer landscapes. The fallen tree, the eroding soil, the place from where the river diverges entwine with the inhibitors of these spaces: the empty nest, the uncovered roots, the marks of flowing water on the rock; all create a presence of remembrance. These are the fresh memories, seen, heard, and felt at once.

There are also memories that the Earth has kept for eons.

What have the glaciers known? The glacial ice is formed from ancient snowfalls, which carry atmospheric knowledge. As it touches the ground, it traps pollen, dust, and tiny organisms, preserving them within gigantic glaciers. Perhaps they have lived more than a thousand human lifetimes, witnessing the season becoming climate. 

How does soil feed us? The flesh turns to dust, the trees decompose into the earth, but the soil keeps traces of everything that lived in and on it. What the soil has seen is far beyond what our minds could remember. Perhaps it feeds us through these memories, recollecting time and space to move through our bodies and into our visions.

Do waves rise to tell a story? Even in the depths of the ocean, the eye of the Earth is wide open, witnessing and keeping intact the moments of life and death, the subtle shifts of earthquakes and meteorites, all living in the sediments, weaving the songs of the sea. Perhaps the oceans hold a story that rises through the waves.

The memories of the Earth are also collected within our mind’s eye.

Our bodies are the map of the stories of the land and our people. The cells remember the experiences of our ancestors. However, cellular memories linger in the gene pool of not only humans but of more than the human world, guiding the path of those in need.

The stories of personal trauma and the history of oppression of more than the human world are the same. What is suppressed within our bodies emerges on the Earth’s body with depleting glaciers and burning fossils. We know the mountains, the rivers, the trees, and the animals are nature, codependent, coexisting, and collaborating. What about us—are we also a part of that nature?

The difference between remembering and knowing lies in forgotten memories. The monarch raised in captivity, when set free, knows the migratory paths of their ancestors. What guides the monarch? Is it nature, the memories within its cells and wings?

There are many answers to the struggles of planetary turmoil, yet the most valuable resource is within our bodies. Here too, the Earth breathes and collects her experiences.

If there are memories of a million lifetimes embedded in our bodies, what do we need to know and remember the most? What if the answer to the struggles of personal and planetary crises is the same? 

What if we are the Earth, hoping to remember and recognise ourselves?

Does the Earth have a memory?
We are already ancestors, collective memories of our doings.
Does the Earth have a memory?
We were created by Earth, and we have created the Earth we are inhabiting.
What did we leave behind?

I hope to remember in my human flesh too; Earth keeps her memory.
And though she will survive without us, she still reincarnates, as human, as nature.

Does the Earth have a memory? What have we forgotten?

Words by Priyanka Singh Parihar,

Founder and Editor-in-Chief