The fresh apple, still cold and crisp from the fridge, is not-me only until I eat it. When I eat, I eat the soil that nourished the apple. When I drink, the waters of the earth become me. With every breath, I take in I draw in not-me and make it me. With every breath out, I exhale me into not-me.
If the air and the waters and the soils are poisoned, I am poisoned. Only if I believe the fiction of the lines more that the truth of the lineless planet will I poison the earth, which is myself.
Donella H. Meadows 1941-2001
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