Earth and the Weight We Refuse to Carry

Some mornings, I used to feel like I was floating off the planet.

Not in a mystical way, but in the scrolling, sugar-rush, blue-light way.

Dopamine loops pulling me into the ether. Notifications yanking me out of my body.

Whole hours lost to the screen while my actual feet forget the ground beneath them.

That’s the sickness of our age: weightless bodies, frantic minds.

And when we refuse the weight of reality, we refuse Earth.

Ayurveda knew the medicine.

They called it Kapha: the earth element, the slow, moist, stabilizing force.

Kapha is why trees stand steady through storms, why soil feeds the seed, why touch matters.

The dignity of slowness.

The holiness of gravity.

We’ve been trained to mock stillness, to treat slowness as weakness.

We fear weight so much we pretend we don’t need it: floating in digital clouds, divorced from ground.

Here’s My Confession: I’ve ghosted the Earth more times than I can count.

Meals eaten standing up. Conversations half-absent because I was already two steps ahead. Skipping rest, skipping silence, skipping the walk outside because there was “more important work.”

And every time, my body revolted: fatigue like cement, fog that no Large Regular Hot could cut. Earth was calling me back, and I kept hitting decline.

Course correction: return to gravity.

Eat food that grew in soil, not a factory. Put your bare feet on grass, dirt, sand. Let the planet remind you you’re not just a brain with Wi-Fi. Chew slowly, taste the weight of nourishment.

Carry your body like it matters, because it does.

What we refuse to carry, the Earth will carry for us.

The grief, the exhaustion, the unspoken prayers. They go somewhere.

If we don’t hold them, the ground does.

But maybe that’s the mercy: Earth always takes us back.

So let’s stop fearing the weight. We can welcome it. Feel it. Release it. Transmute it.

Let’s become steady again, animal again, grounded again.

Let’s get well.

Love, Meg