Charles Goodrich

What if everything in the world is, in some way, sentient? What if every creature and object is a somebody, a person, and therefore kin? Moss, trees, rocks, clouds, rats, insects and humans, all participants in a collective consciousness? It’s an ancient intuition that has only receded in relatively recent times, and it is still central to the worldview of many cultures. What would it mean for 21st century Americans to believe that everything is alive and possessed of agency? How might we try to conduct our lives in accordance with that belief?   

 For starters, we’d need to develop a full-time taste for ethical dilemmas. Because everything about our acquisitive, individualistic culture aligns against that insight.  Where do bulldozers and bombs fit in a fully sentient universe? Even starting up our lawnmowers might paralyze us (and should at least give us pause).

 As a lifelong gardener, I’m not going to tell you I don’t pull up the thistles and bindweed, or spare the aphids and slugs on my vegetables and flowers. But thistles, bindweed, aphids and slugs are beautiful, miraculous, and they want to live as much as I do. I admire them and wish them well (as long as they’re not eating my broccoli). In my writing, I can offer my respect for the creatures of the planet. I can pay witness to the brilliance and generosity of the plants, the inventiveness of the insects. Believing in the kinship of all beings, I carry a sense of responsibility in my interactions with plants and animals, rocks and weather. It gives an extra zing, a moral tension, to every moment. That’s one of the main things I explore in my poetry.