The sky has grown tired of our prayers...prayers shouted into the void, cast upward like arrows without aim. For generations, humanity has knelt to ideas carved in myth and cloaked in fear, repeating the same ancient mantras while the world beneath our knees crumbles.
“The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”
This oft-quoted axiom, attributed to many but lived by most, is not simply a statement...it is an indictment. A mirror. A fire alarm muffled by gospel choirs and cloaked in incense.
We are prisoners of repetition, of sacred cycles that have yielded no harvest but war, poverty, and ecological decay. It is this same madness that Albert Einstein, with weary foresight, warned us of:
“We shall require a substantially new manner of thinking if mankind is to survive.”
And yet, here we stand, reciting dogmas as glaciers bleed into rising oceans, as forests collapse like lung tissue in a smoker’s chest.
What Einstein called for is not rebellion but revelation...a resurrection not of bodies, but of consciousness. He saw that the survival of our species would not be found in temples or churches, but in the way we choose to think, to live, and to love. The insatiable appetite of human greed, too often sanctified by religion, has weaponized faith into empire and turned the divine into doctrine. And so we worship with empty hands while the earth starves.
Humanity’s fervent and foolish belief in an apocryphal deity, in a mythological savior descending from clouds with pierced palms and a wrathful army, is not faith...it is a cancerous fable. It is, as Einstein’s “insanity” implies, a desperate cycle of asking the same questions to the same silent sky and scorning the wisdom of the ground beneath our feet.
This belief has distracted us, divided us, and allowed us to ignore the interconnected truth we’ve always known deep in our marrow: We are not separate. Not superior. We are each branches of the same great tree. And yet, what do we do? We war with ourselves, we hate across skin tones, we kill in the name of gods who remain silent.
A Native American proverb says,
“No tree has branches so foolish as to fight amongst themselves.”
But we, the so-called enlightened species, have drenched the roots in blood and expected the tree to blossom.
The sky, once filled with dreams and gods, is now silent not because it has no answers, but because we have stopped listening to the right questions.
Carl Sagan whispered to us from the cathedral of the cosmos:
“In all this vastness there is no hint that help from elsewhere is coming to save us from ourselves.”
Let the stars testify...there is no cavalry arriving on clouds, no final trumpet to rescue us from our own undoing. The savior we keep searching for was always supposed to be us.
And if that sounds too heavy, too human, let the poet John Donne speak across centuries:
“Never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee…”
Translation? There is no “them” or "Him." There is only we. No chosen people. No final judgment with heavenly escape routes. Just us...dancing on a thread pulled taut by time, praying for miracles while ignoring the miracles in one another.
We must not confuse faith with fantasy, nor confuse unity with uniformity. What we need is not the death of spirituality, but its evolution. A spirituality rooted in truth, in justice, in mutual care and planetary stewardship. The Earth does not need our prayers...it needs our action. Our love. Our bold, inconvenient awakening.
If we do not wake soon, the bells will toll...not in judgment, but in mourning. Not because a savior never came, but because we never became the saviors we were meant to be.
Let us then write a new gospel...not on parchment, but in practice. Let our verse be kindness. Let our chorus be justice. Let our communion be shared responsibility. And may the final revelation be not of rapture, but of reconciliation...with each other, and with the Earth that bore us all.
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