Genesis Redux: Cells, Planets, and More Evidence of God

The cell is the most basic form of life we know about.   Like us it exchanges gases, not through a mouth but through a membrane.  It also maintains a homeostasis through its internal reactions, like all living creatures.   The conditions of life, as defined by biologists, are such that an organism must be capable of responsiveness, growth, metabolism, energy transformation, and reproduction.  A cell meets all of these requirements; it grows, reproduces, and dies, the way you would expect anything living to do.  Does it surprise you that something so small, so seemingly detached from the larger world, and so different from other forms of life, could be considered an organism? 

When Robert Hooke first discovered them in 1665, he didn't think they were alive because he wasn't able to observe their interior contents.  On the surface, a cell is a stationery object that doesn't appear to have any internal chemistry at all.  Hooke suggested that these microscopic objects he'd discovered came about because of spontaneous generation, from either natural or artificial heat.  It wasn't until Anton van Leeuwenhoek's discovery in 1676 that the composition of a cell had a high amount of motility that the cell was interpreted as a life-form for the first time.  After that, it took about 100 years for us to realize that cells were the building blocks of life. 

The discovery of the cell started a biological revolution in science.  Prior to the discovery, nobody had thought that our bodies were composed of an astronomically large amount of living organisms.  The finding of bacteria came later, and insights into the nature of organs were expanded upon.  The idea that organs such as the brain, liver, and kidney, were made of unique types of different cells- that all worked together to keep a larger organism functioning- never really inspired the kind of mass-mystical enlightenment it should have, in the opinion of this writer.  It should have been considered divinely miraculous that our bodies were found to be so intricately designed by a network of species invisible to the naked eye.  I'm at a loss to explain why it wasn't. 

 

It's now time to share with you what I always suspected: that the earth is a living, breathing organism.  I realize that this may come as a surprise to you; it came as a shock to me when I first conceived it.  It may seem especially presumptuous coming from a man who isn't a specialist in biological sciences, but I can assure you that I have thought this through to the core (no pun intended) and found that indeed, the ground we walk on is but the surface of a much larger organism, our ever-self-sufficient planet Earth. 
First, I shall use a couple analogies to illustrate my point. Like the microscopic dust mites that walk over our bodies searching for food, we are scavenging the body of something bigger than ourselves for food of our own, completely oblivious to the fact that it is a living organism.  An even smaller organism that isn't aware of serving a larger body is the cell itself, which compares much better to the Earth when we consider their shapes and asymmetrical properties.  Most animals are symmetric in design, but not our spherical building blocks.  It comes as a special surprise that we may in turn provide some of the building blocks of our own planet, the same way cells do to our bodies.  The body we provide chemical balance to is the Earth, a spherical object, while our bodies rely on the chemical balance of spherical bodies themselves. And considering fractals, the planets and stars could be likened to cells inside a universal body, one that may be symmetrically shaped like our own.  There lies another proof of God; that if the definition of life is skewed to allow planetary and stellar objects to be considered life-forms, they would all resemble the cells in some universal being. 

As mentioned, the standard definition of life states that it must have a metabolism, it must reproduce, it must have the ability to grow, it must adapt to changing conditions, and it must respond to stimuli.  Never mind the fact that such a rigid definition discounts viruses, proteins, and a lot of other things that self-regulate.  Our new definition must require only a number of these things and not all five.  I also want to dismiss the Gaia Hypothesis on the grounds that it has mostly been thought of as a metaphorical model for the Earth being a symbiotic entity, where every living thing depends on everything else that's living.  For I firmly believe that the Earth doesn't care whether we are alive or not.  Though it depends on us for certain characteristics, it would exist on its own without our meddling, just as other planets do.  All we do is give it some extra substance, making it more evolved than other planets.  If planets are communicating with each other via magnetism, entanglement, the "music of the spheres" or any other such barely detectable phenomenon, Earth might be proud to boast of being the only one that supports life in its neighborhood. 

You might be interested in my post on Protein Interaction Theory, which likens proteins to being alive because they fit several of the criteria for the definition of life.  The same issue here is at hand: our planet fits several of the criteria as well, and I will be using a cell as a model of comparison.  Like a cell, the internal chemistry of the Earth goes through cycles of imbalance to regulate homeostasis.  Trapping charged particles from the sun can be likened to osmosis, or eating.  In this fashion the Earth acts as a giant capacitor, storing charge in the ionosphere and filtering it into the ground via the lightning of cumulonimbus clouds.  The very action of a thunderstorm may be described as the Earth "swallowing" food, giving it an extra supply of ions for each atom that escapes the atmosphere.  Another key process lies in the magnetosphere generated by the liquid outer core, which allows the Earth to block excessive amounts of solar radiation that would otherwise harm it.  Yes, the Earth has devised its own way of defending itself, like many planets have.  The outer core can be compared to a nuclear membrane in that it sends out massive amounts of energy to the mantle (or in a cell's case- all the organelles in its cytoplasm).  Admittedly, we don't yet know enough about the inner core to be able to compare it with the nucleus of a cell.  There surely aren't proteins and long strands of DNA swirling through the inner core of the Earth, however if we consider that two thirds of the amount of all carbon on the planet is roasting inside it in some form, the possibility of it spelling a form of life we aren't aware of becomes far more interesting.  Perhaps the mechanism of the core operates far differently from the other domains of life as we know them. 

In order to see this comparison more clearly, you will have to try imagining all Earth processes sped up to the point where they relatively coincide with life processes in our own bodies, the processes that define what makes us alive. If we speed up all Earth processes, we notice they have an uncanny resemblance to reactions taking place inside a cell, from the convection cells in the mantle to the spewing of lava at the surface. Seeing as these processes can take up to millions of years, it isn't all that far-fetched when you eliminate time parameters.  A side-by-side viewing of the cell vs. The Earth scaled to the same time frequency would yield interesting similarities.  

In evolutionary terms, the Earth would come before the cell as being the first monophyletic entity. (And if we describe the sun as being alive then the Earth clearly evolved from it, deeming stars the first monophyletic entity instead.)  Evolution doesn't necessarily need to go from small to large, as we've seen through its long history on Earth.  Plenty of new bacterium have arisen as a result of larger beings coming into existence.  Even new phyla of bacteria owe their existence to larger beings, like Chlamydiae, which attacks eukaryotic cells.  This begs the question: is life on Earth a disease?  Has the Earth constantly been trying to get rid of us through its long history?  Are we nothing but parasites?  Probably not.  Carbon dioxide and oxygen aren't necessary for the Earth's existence, but they do enhance its appearance.  Depending on taste, one wonders if other planets, which arguably have consciousness like everything else, look at the Earth as either being polluted beyond repair or astoundingly beautiful. 

Another thing to consider is the tendency that larger life lives longer than smaller life.  Whales, elephants, and the tallest of trees live far longer than bacteria, plankton, fish, and smaller mammals.  Clams and turtles are a couple exceptions, though considering their elaborate defense mechanisms- shells and carapaces- it shouldn't surprise anyone they live longer.  Metabolism is another factor: the faster an organism is relative to its mass, the lower its life expectancy.  The Earth and sun, being millions of times larger than terrestrial organisms and having much slower "metabolisms", perfectly fit statistical models that the laws of life seem to have.  I have also considered that even galaxies are alive, seeing as they are larger, older, and more or less regulate themselves. As far as reproduction, the merging of astronomical bodies, like stars and galaxies, could resemble fertilization, and thus the conception of new bodies. Clearer is the apparent solar "mitosis" of a supernova, which gives birth to thousands of baby stars. 

The sun and the Earth have always stood as mythological icons, like God, Gaia, and Ra, guiding us through the ordeals of life.   Now they are able to stand as literal beings who can be scientifically studied by one of the creatures they created.  Creationism is no longer the myth that science has made it.  Those who fear religion in the scientific community, without even looking at the evidence right in front of them, will reject everything I've said on the basis that I've arrogantly changed the definition of life.  They should not let any preconceived notions about intelligent design sneak into their judgment.  Mine is a purely rational argument, and I didn't originally set out to prove the existence of God. I have merely been observing what's in front of me, questioning everything, and connecting the dots.  Maybe the dots aren't really there and I'm simply imagining them; maybe they really exist and science will eventually prove the life forces of our celestial brothers.  It will take a long time for the scientific community to remold the definition of life in order to make it suitable for what I am describing. Odds are it will never happen because scientists are so wrapped up in the boxes of convention that they can't see the light trying to penetrate their senses.  Nonetheless I urge them to watch a video showing Earth processes sped up, to see if the velocities of Earth's interactions aren't relatively mutual with those of a cell.  If they are, they must open their minds to the possibility that the Earth, as much as it might unsettle them, is the most ancient, versatile organism we've ever studied. 

The Bells of Westminster Abbey

 O what a glorious day.  It's her birthday, the one I love, and all I can hear is the bells, the bells, the ringing of the bells.  I can still hear them in the back of my mind, those chimes of afternoon cheer, ringing 'round the square that fronts the abbey in the heart of London.  Big Ben had struck the gong at noon an hour before, and we knew we had arrived at the perfect time in a place so magical that it proceeded to follow us through the rest of the happy city.  Marblesque statues of deceased legends adorned the halls of that Gothic interior, where plaques written in dedication honored all the noteworthy people of English history.  It's not simply a tomb, no, the presentation makes it seem like you're wandering through a museum, which has somehow managed to enrapture itself with the high stained-glass windows, flying buttresses, colorful diptychs, and illustrated altars of a grand cathedral, for in spite of all its tombs this is the beating pulse of the entire country, of anything that could be remotely described as English.  It was in the nave of writers that I felt especially privileged, as the bones of Shakespeare, Milton, Keats, Wordsworth, Auden, and Eliot all spoke to me at once, sending me into a trance that hypnotized the poet in me and channeled it through such a grateful revelry.  Thank you, Masters of the Past, for showing us mortals how it is possible to reach divine status, even to those of us who try over and over again and still fail.  You are the reason we keep on, for if there's any quality that links us all together, it's that we never gave up our talents to alcohol, debauchery, or meaningless pleasures that numb the senses.  Here we are united in our common interest, living and dead alike, to record the experiences of man as best we can.  My only wish is that we had something like this in America, where all our greatest poets and historical figures could be honored in a single location; a national mausoleum so aesthetically pleasing that anything less would be unworthy of the remains of such influential people. 

The rest of her birthday was blessed by such incidents as running into a surprise parade in which the greatest of British athletes were awarded for their achievements at the Olympics in Rio; and the verdant nook of St. James Park, where we fed ducks and had lunch on the shores of a royal lake; and finally, that boisterous troop of children on a field trip, tromping single file toward Buckingham Palace, which she wanted to follow, and so we did, yes, all the way through the park, enjoying all the surprises that any mob of children are capable of providing, and when we got there she laughed, yes, she laughed at the way they all climbed up onto the gates of the palace begging to see the Queen.  I hope she enjoyed her birthday, I really do, and if she can still hear the bells like I can, then she surely did.  It didn't pan out the way it was supposed to in my head, but perhaps it was meant to be that way; a day of surprises without being planned, the way the best days in life will often disappoint us at first, yet retain their glory and grow on us for so long that they begin to shine over all the others in the museums of our memory. 

Giverny

 The sun never smiles so warmly as it does in the gardens of Giverny.  Monet had the most wonderful taste for horticulture.  I wished I could name but half of the flowers we saw, but I couldn't even manage one, being so distracted by their variety that recalling them would only make my appreciation meaningless.  Nothing in a name should ever detract from the pleasure of its viewing, or the sense of feeling grounded in its place.  The gardens make you feel so at home that if one were to get lost anywhere on Earth, this would be the place to choose.  

There is one particular alley which shines so radiantly under the sun that a sensational daydream overcame me on viewing it, in which my beloved and I were wed under white arches of hanging bells that rang with matrimony, surrounded on both sides by colorful sheets of flaming roses and clusters of little purple daisies.  The flowers in this alley sing such calming serenades of love that you'd think they were lamenting their long-lost master without ever losing their brilliance.  Imagine what the owners would charge to hold weddings in such an ideal location as this: an artist's muse personified on the Earth, dressed up in empty splendor like a churchyard for casting eternal vows of faith. 

On the path we wandered through groves of bamboo, cherry trees, and the forest of willows which famously overhang his water lily pond.  This was her second visit, and she relished in the delight of the day being twice as bright with half so many people.  Indeed, it felt like we'd struck gold, as the pathways were easy to walk and even the bridges were barren of people.  We found the ultimate setting on a bench at the far end of the pond, offering a view of all the clusters of lily pads that decorate the serene pool.  It looked like something out of a fairy tale, so out of this world with its surreal beauty that it couldn't possibly be real.  For a second it seemed like I'd become the artist and sat in the very same place he had, soaking in the scenery with his senses before delicately relaying them onto the canvas.  It was very near to a religious experience, like many of the others I've had when witnessing breathtaking scenes of nature.  For that entire duration I felt at peace, complete, that nothing could mar the journey now that one of our dreams had come true. 

She loves the work of Monet even more than I do- a rarity that fancies me in a humbling way.  I wouldn't be surprised to find out she'd been created in his mind and come to life at the strokes of his brush, because she is every bit as graceful as they must have been in order to create such soothing mixtures of color.  She is like a rare albino pigeon, at peace in the hanging house of willows, eternally at home among the lilies, and never wanting to leave. 

The Longest Travel Day

    Yesterday was the longest travel day of my life.  I spent ten hours on a plane which took off right as I was supposed to sleep.  It was a 1:30pm flight; since I work at night, that's effectively when I go to bed.  On the plane I only managed to get an hour of sleep, setting me up for an exhausting second half of the journey; a day within a day, it would seem, as I was set to land during sunrise in London.  It was no less gruesome for my beloved Kairika, who landed the same time I did, yet spent three more hours in the air.
    She flew in from Bangkok and I flew in from Seattle.  The total length of our two flights was roughly two-thirds the circumference of the Earth.  The only geographic super-entity we didn't collectively fly over was the Pacific Ocean.  Meeting her in London was a greater challenge than I'd imagined, because Heathrow Airport has five terminals and the one I landed in is far away from the others.  Hardly anyone could have known that they'd landed outside the heart of the airport without knowing beforehand.  Once I found out, I had to haul my luggage at least a mile getting to and away from the train that connects the terminals, putting a lot of strain on my muscles (my two bags don't have wheels for support).
    Luckily I didn't have to wait long for our rendezvous, as she came out of the Arrivals Gate at terminal 2 only a few minutes after I got there.  Kairika looked even more beautiful than when we first met, when she came to Seattle a year ago in celebration of our birthdays.  We may be doing this every year, as our birthdays are only three days apart.  It's not just the dates that coincide, but the year as well.  She is only three days older than I am.  Curious how such astrological implications work in the scheme of life.  That the love of my life was born so close to me is personal proof that the houses which weave our fates are as real as the sciences that discredit them.
    We took a train to Paddington and rode in a taxi for the remainder of our route to St. Pancras, where the Eurostar train would take us across the southeast of England, under the English Channel, and into the cultural hub of western civilization; that storied region of northern France, where the threads of Parisian innovation sweep through the rest of that great continent, and beyond.  It was an admittedly joyless and dull ride, as we'd spent most of the day waiting for transfers in the sedations of sleep.  Most of the Eurostar ride was spent catching up on sleep with those precious few opportune moments that call for it.  One particular time I looked out the window after waking from a nap, only to spot an unoriginal landscape of grass and farmland before nodding off to sleep again seconds later.  It seems that Europe's lack of natural beauty is supplanted by its cultural one, whereas in the far west it's entirely the opposite.  Out there, no elaborate baroque cathedrals can be found.  Museums filled with classics and rare objects are nowhere to be seen.  Monuments, bridges, and iconic towers are replaced by gorgeous mountains, rivers, and a desert that built its own version of these things.  Where we've come the ancient cities are like the National Parks of the west, each as original as the next, only far younger and built by more primitive forces.
    Getting through Paris for the first time was as mesmerizing as it was frustrating.  We were scheduled to meet someone at our room just ten minutes after the train arrived.  The room was only a mile away from the station, but there were a couple things I hadn't foreseen- one being that it was rush hour, so the wait for getting a cab was 20 minutes long, another being a sneaky, greedy cab driver, who took us as far away from our room as the train station was.  He did this after getting stuck in a traffic jam which had delayed us 10 more minutes.  I noticed this because it was only one direction from the station to our room, and he'd gone about 20 blocks the wrong direction after turning.  I pointed this out to him and his excuse was, "Oh, Paris has so many one-way streets, that's why I have to come all the way down here to turn around", which turned out to be bogus because the map later showed me many opportunities where he could have done it earlier.  We ended up being an hour late, looking for a room in a bizarrely shaped building where no host was to be seen.  I had also nearly lost my wallet.  Compounding all this with my state of exhaustion, a host who later found us and appeared to be frustrated, and a room that is unexpectedly inferior in nearly every aspect I can imagine, I nearly broke down in agony.  But I held it all together somehow, and we're all settled into this strange room with its bathroom window, quirky sofa bed (which we had to make ourselves), and paint job done by someone who had a stroke.  The only redeeming quality is the view, which looks out on northern Paris in admiration, the same way any tourist would.