'Private!"

I no longer believe in "private land." It is only a cultural prejudice, and not a law of nature, that persuades us of our right to own the soil, the aquifers and springs, the woods, hills and prairies.

Can any man own the earth, even a handful of loam? My hands did not create her, she created my hands. At best I am a tenant, a steward of the Motherwealth.

I do not own a single speck of dust. Not even the photons or electrons of my flesh are mine, for they dissolve in an instant, beyond my capacity to create or destroy. Every proton in this body of light is the gift of a star. And even that is composed of ephemeral quarks, shimmering in an unfathomable void, whose mysterious Source has no boundary or duration.

When I say "privacy," does privacy have any edges? Or is privacy simply our mutual respect, in a boundless realm where we are, finally, each other?

Mother, I belong to you. Father, I belong to you. Friend, I belong to you.