My department was labeled “useless” the other day.  Yes, I certainly took offense, but managed to keep my warrior down to a snotty message to my boss about how I’d like to “clarify” my “use” to this other snotty person.  I did not maim anyone.  I am so spiritual.

“To be of use” is a title for a Marge Piercy book.  Can’t remember much about it, but it reminds me also of “Sirens of Titan” by Kurt Vonnegut in which the whole earth was evolved to finally produce a small essential mechanical part for a stalled spaceship on the backside of the moon.  The Great Wall of China was a message “help coming soon!”  And the whole earth was being used.

Since I really can’t be sure of the meaning of life, I have to allow this to be true.  I eat plants and animals, why wouldn’t some greater being be cultivating me for dinner?  Would it be so bad to end up as a great piece of steak and home fries for a satisfied customer?  Can I love my life with the tweetering spring birds, eager perfect flowers and blueberries from South America if I really knew I was a small gear in a gigantic sportscar?

Again this proves that in this moment, gentle clicking keys, off-hand conversation with my loved one, wet sleeve from making chili in the crock pot, soft meowing of the cats, that I claim my existence as exquisite.  Right here, right now that makes any and all “results” moot.

Hurray for me today, hurray for whatever thought all this up, hurray for being a part of this sweet earth.